


Miracle

by IntrovertedWife



Series: My Love [9]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Adorable, Alistair Smut, Alistair dad, Angst, Awkward Cullen, Cullen Smut, Cullen dad, Cullen father, Cullenlingus, Cute Alistair, Cute Kids, F/M, Fear of Death, Fluff, Grey Warden pregnancy, Humor, Kid Fic, King Alistair, POV Alistair, POV Cullen Rutherford, POV Third Person Limited, Pregnancy, Romance, fear of miscarriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2018-10-26 09:07:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 45
Words: 198,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10783770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntrovertedWife/pseuds/IntrovertedWife
Summary: After the Hero of Ferelden thinks she stumbled into a way to cure the taint and shares it with King Alistair, neither of them took into account any unexpected side effects emerging 9 months later. Two unexpected pregnancies, two unplanned babies, two terrified fathers, hilarity ensues.This is for everyone who wanted to read Alistair as an about to be dad and for those who didn't ask for Cullen to worry himself to death over it.A follow up to Guarded Love and the rest of the My Love series.





	1. Uh-oh

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyGoat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGoat/gifts), [Space_aged](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Space_aged/gifts), [kelseyr713](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelseyr713/gifts), [nlans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nlans/gifts).



A giant qunari lady's horn almost smacked right into Alistair's cheek. Luckily, he had just enough waning training in his blood to dodge first before asking questions. The woman in question was spinning on her feet, trying to wrestle with a dwarf that had no mind to pay for whatever crime he kept insisting he didn't commit. She groaned, her eyes rolling as the dwarf inched his manacled hands around a desk and drew forth a small letter opener to defend himself. Unaware of the King enjoying the show, the newest detective yanked up the dwarf by the waistband of his pants and dangled him high in the air.

"Hey, let me down!" he squirmed, those short legs paddling freely.

The Qunari snarled, "Not bloody likely," then she turned and caught the human flesh clogging up the door, "oh, hi your Majesty."

"Don't mind me," Alistair chuckled. "I'll keep far out of your way." He was used to the hustle and bustle of the Solver's agency by now. Voices shouted out questions from one end of the room to the other, the sound of quills scratching against vellum a constant background noise, and...sure enough there glittering in the back of the madness were the eyes he expected.

"Lunet," Alistair tipped his head to the elf that was both confusingly secretary and second in command at the same time. He paused and thought of Karelle. Actually, that wasn't so surprising. "Where's...?" he began, when a voice called from behind a giant stack of crates.

"I'm back here."

"Reiss," he finished first to Lunet -- who only shrugged, then got back to jabbing her pastry into a stein of coffee. Sliding through the office's maze of desks, always shifting thanks to evidence piling up at random, Alistair came to a seeming impenetrable wall made of stacks and stacks of boxes. Somewhere behind it was the woman he loved, the clear sound of her belabored breath breaking past the wooden barrier.

"Hello!" he shouted, a hand cupped to his mouth. "Excuse me, keeper of the boxes, but have you seen a lovely elf by any chance? About five foot seven with golden hair, eyes of summer, and the sharpest tongue you've ever faced?" Alistair felt a snicker from the dark haired elf behind him and he tipped his head in recognition.

"Oh for the..." Reiss growled, when her head shot out through a hole. Her cheeks were flushed bright red, and she'd doffed her hat to reveal that familiar bun, though the requisite dagger was nowhere to be seen.

"Hello," Alistair smiled before bending over and placing a soft kiss to her perturbed lips. Her hand lashed out from behind the wall, fingers tenting against his cheek for balance as she returned the affection. "Busy?"

"When aren't I?" Reiss volleyed back. Groaning, she slid half her body through the hole, slightly widening it. "If you maybe duck down you can get in through here." It took more than his ducking, Alistair having to suck in his gut which he'd always considered rather trim, as well as feeling the unfinished wood snag upon the backside of his trousers. But, after a bit of impossible bending of his body, he made it back to where her desk sat.

Walled off from the rest of the office, a strange silence fell, as if they were in a secret cave hiding from an oncoming storm. Reiss wiped her hands off on her tunic, oddly missing the scrap of plate metal she always wore. A few ink stains and whatever filth clung to the boxes trailed behind her hands, but Alistair didn't care.

"Maker's breath, you're beautiful," he murmured, entranced with the set in her glistening eyes and the turn to her smile.

"You always say that," she answered back, but a soft blush rose upon those cheeks.

With a curl of his fingers, he tipped a breakaway tendril of golden hair back behind her ears and whispered, "Because it's always true." This time Reiss crossed the distance, her hands wrapping tight around the back of his neck while her lips devoured his. She must have been famished, her tongue quickly finding its way in to resuscitate his. Pinning his palms around her waist, Alistair wished to shed every stitch of clothing off her.

"Oi, you two better not be snogging in there," Lunet's snarky voice managed to reach them through the barricade.

Breaking away from him with a sigh at being interrupted, Reiss smiled, "Hello, husband."

"Hello, wife," he whispered, always lighter when he could say those words to her. There was almost no one else in thedas who knew, but damn it, it meant something to him. "Let me guess," he gestured to the boxes, "there was a great estate sale and you simply had to buy everything in the place."

"Ha," Reiss laughed once, her body slotting against his side in a half hug. Pointing to each section of wall, she explained, "Let's see, Dixon Hill case, an Adrian's Ghost Monk, missing Miss Marples, and the Purloined Pussy."

"You're looking into someone's missing cat?" he asked, surprised she'd take on such a small matter.

Reiss blinked a moment, then blushed, "Not exactly, no."

"How are you surviving back here?" he stared around at this secret base where no one else entered or left. "How long have you been surviving in this?"

"Not very, a few days," she waved her hand as if it wasn't a problem, "I can slip out if the need arises and I trust my people to handle anything big that comes through the door." Reiss pressed her warm lips against his neck, obviously trying to distract him from her current predicament. Sadly, Alistair was a simple man and it was working perfectly for her.

Moaning in the back of his throat, he turned, prepared to do all the snogging he wanted with the boss. Reiss slipped away, those dangerously smart eyes sizing him up. "You got here rather quickly..."

"I had little to do today. Really. Pinkie swear," he extended it out and even under her scrutinizing stare, she returned the gesture with her own. "The castle's been recuperating from the huge birthday party."

Reiss smiled wide at that, "How'd it go?"

"Pretty good. Spud ushered in the big six with near on ten thousand of her cousins around. Maker's sake, I have no idea how many there are, it's just a sea of tiny hands and feet flapping around up there. Spent the day eating cake, opening up presents, drinking punch, eating more cake, then riding around on ponies."

She tipped her head at that, "You didn't ride a pony, right?" Slowly her eyes darted down his form that'd crush the poor thing.

"Had to, the birthday girl insisted. While all the kids were saddled up and squealing, I sort of waddled around over top the poor thing squished between my thighs."

The bright laughter echoing in Reiss' throat was enough to make up for his abject humiliation. In truth, it wasn't that bad, Spud clapping like mad every time the pony whinnied in annoyance. And he didn't get kicked, so that was good.

"How'd Cailan take it?"

"About as good as can be expected at three," Alistair admitted. "At first he was terrified of the thing. I couldn't blame him, the poor pony's bridle was festooned with ribbons. It looked like its head was being consumed by a cotton candy colored squid. Then he saw his sister wanted to ride and we couldn't stop the kid from leaping into a saddle."

Reiss slid out from hugging him in order to sit down upon her desk. Her eyes kept staring up at his face while she gripped onto the edge for balance.

"It's real fun when he's at that age to want to do everything his sister does and she's at the age where she doesn't want a damn thing to do with him. Near on everyday it's an utter conniption over 'Daddy, he's touching my things!' 'Daddy, I don't wanna take Caywen!' And of course my son's just crying 'Sissy' and chasing after her as if it's all a fun game."

Her sweet shoulders began to shake a little at a contained laugh from his misfortune. Reaching forward, her fingers skirted with his and she gripped to his hand. "They'll grow out of it."

"Maker's sake, I hope so. There was a near on meltdown right outside the chantry steps because 'Caywen touched my kerchief.' And Cailan's bawling because Spud's being mean and he's so very tender hearted about such things. I thought the Grand Cleric was going to have me excommunicated, then tossed into the stocks on the very spot for it," he paused to shake his head at the children that both filled and drained his life. It was a good day when it came to a wash. "At least Cailan's pretty much out of nappies."

She smiled at that, "I don't think Lorace got the idea until he was nearly five."

"And you never let your brother forget, I bet," Alistair smiled at her. Reiss only lifted a shoulder, but the ornery grin told him all he needed to know. "Anyway, castle's sleeping all that off when not pursuing hordes of children in various stages of sugar berserk rages. All I had was a meeting this morning with the Denerim crew and a few letters to answer. Oh and keeping up the diary for Lanny. Day 65 since I took your potion, still no dreams. Can't sense darkspawn, but there are very few in the city for some reason. Perhaps they're not impressed with the spring salons this year. The horrifically tainted are so fickle. All in all, seems to be working."

Reiss tugged their clasped hands together, drawing him away from his story telling gaze right to her eyes. A hint of tears brimmed in them as she whispered, "Good."

Cupping her cheek, Alistair bent over to press his forehead to hers. "I'm sticking around as long as I can," he promised her and moved to press his lips to hers and seal the deal.

Suddenly, Reiss yanked her head back, a hand flying up to her mouth. Her entire face knotted up in concern and panic as she whipped around searching for something, but after a moment it seemed to pass. "Sorry, I've been fighting this Maker awful stomach bug for the past few days. Because," she raised her voice to be heard through the boxes, "someone brought in tainted potato salad!"

Lunet's groan pierced through the barricade, "How long do you intend to blame me for that?"

"Until I stop vomiting comes to mind."

"I already swore I wouldn't get any lunch from that cart ever again. What more do you want from me? My blood?"

Reiss sighed, "Do not tempt me."

Softly, Alistair parted his fingers over her forehead, noticing how clammy it felt to his touch. "Are you pushing yourself? Should I go? I don't want you to get sicker for my sake."

Smiling, she wrapped her arms around the back of his neck and tugged her head against his chest. "Please stay. I feel better when you're around."

"Okay," he sighed, dipping down to pull her fully into a hug, "but I'm guessing this means dinner is out."

That same seasick queasy face returned, Reiss shaking her head away. It passed just as quick as before and she snarled, "I'm going to kill Lunet."

"You say that every time I visit," Alistair chuckled. "Come on, you should probably take it easy. Bosses can take half days after all."

He expected her to argue, she always did whenever he showed up early, often leaving the King to prod around in her desk drawing things or sometimes questioning witnesses that strolled in. But this must have hit harder than she let on as Reiss nodded her head and slipped to her legs. With her arms still wrapped around him, she turned her head to shout, "Lunet, I'm heading upstairs to rest. You can handle lock up."

"Already figured I would," she shouted back as smug as ever.

Reiss rolled her eyes but curled tighter to him. Together they took the long stairs up to her private apartment where hopefully no one below would overhear their vigorous reunion.

 

* * *

  

She meant to rest, but when Alistair's fingers began to slide across her back undoing a stuck button to help her into her pajamas, well...

"You need a bigger bed," he complained, as he always did for every visit.

"Last I checked, there's only one of me," she sighed, snuggling tighter against his warm chest. Those fingers that'd teased and tempted her body carefully parted her fallen hair. Reiss stopped keeping anything in her bun on the days she knew Alistair would arrive. It was only going to wind up crashing to the ground anyway.

"What about Muse?" he pressed a kiss to her hair, as if sealing his job at combing it, letting those strong hands traipse down her naked back.

"The dog does not sleep in my bed," Reiss growled. "Maker's sake, there's barely enough room for me."

"Ah ha!" he cried, trying to sit up but it was impossible with all of her laying on top of him. "It is too small."

Struggling up to her elbows, she crawled higher to stare deep into those cocksure eyes. Muse didn't whine and wheedle as great as Alistair did, probably because it didn't work for the dog unlike the human. Brushing her swollen nose against the side of his, Reiss tasted those tender lips still flushed from their exertions. He seemed to abandon his thoughts on the bed, Alistair's hands skirting up around her waist to tug her tighter against his stomach.

 _Maker's breath_ , she moaned in the back of her throat. The nights in her bed had felt particularly lonely as of late, their last encounter being of the official variety save a quick lunch together. It felt like weeks since he'd massaged the pads of his palms into her hips or rolled them back to cup her ass.

Reiss noticed that the potion the Hero created for the both of them seemed to be having another effect, age finally creeping up to take down his infamous appetite. But the small layer of fluff that turned mountains of abs into molehills didn't damper an inch of her desire. It was kinda fun to snuggle to a softer body and not worry about a bone prodding into her more tender flesh.

"I missed you," Alistair moaned, his fingers skirting off her hips to curl up her stomach. Ever so softly he graced those palms against her breasts, but it was pain instead of pleasure that seared against Reiss' skin. She sat up fast, her hands slipping over both to try and coddle them tight.

Wincing at the pain and concern in his eyes, she sighed, "Sorry, they've been temperamental lately."

"Oh," his hands barely drew against her naked thigh, those sweet brown eyes weighing her attempting to soothe her aching chest. "Reiss, did I hurt you before? I..."

"No, no," she raced to comfort him, "it comes and goes at random. Been doing it for a few days now."

"That's why no metal breastplate," Alistair mused, surprising her.

"You noticed that?" she turned to him, that investigator always on the lookout for new talent honing in on him.

He chuckled, both hands splaying against the pillow in a strange defeat, "Noticed, stared enraptured at your chest. Tomato, red orange." The cheeky smile caught her in a familiar loop, both of them grinning like idiots upon each other, when it suddenly fell. "You're not sick, are you?"

"You mean aside from whatever stomach knot Lunet put me under?" she groaned, glad it was fading. Perhaps she'd finally overcome the slippery thing. It felt like it'd been a good week she'd suffered this barely simmering flu, which wasn't entirely surprising. Reiss had a habit of pushing herself too hard for too long.

Exhausted, she curled up back on top of her husband, her fingers climbing up and down the feathery chest hair. "I doubt it's anything serious. It'll pass in time."

"I'm more worried about pains in your chest, that can be deadly," the usually sunny voice skipped deeper into a hole, his eyes burning through her dilapidated ceiling.

"Alistair," Reiss whispered his name which always seemed to calm him. "They're tender is all. It can happen. Maybe the breastplate is pinching too tight, or I laid on my stomach too long, or..."

A thought trickled through her mind.

No.

They'd already been down that road before. It wasn't possible, as she'd proven to herself over the years.

"Or...?" Alistair prompted, staggering up to stare into her eyes. But Reiss was too busy glaring through the air to look back at him.

Sixty five days since he was in theory clean of the taint. What if...?

_Oh Maker._

Reiss slid off him, her feet hitting the ground as she hunted for clothing. Most of hers was scattered to the four winds of her tiny apartment, Reiss not being one to cling to orderliness. She snagged on a pair of trousers, then slipped her hands through a robe. Far too large for her, she usually kept it around for Alistair in the event there were any surprises knocking upon her door and he had to clothe himself quickly.

The man sat up on her bed, "What are you doing?"

"Downstairs," she said, wadding up a pair of pants and hurling them at Alistair, "I think everyone's gone for the day, but just in case."

He held them up in utter confusion, those expressive eyebrows knotted together. "In case of what?"

Reiss yanked open the door, causing the oversized robe to expand and leave her sternum further exposed. Normally, she'd blush at so much of her skin being free but her mind was too busy broiling in concern. No, not again. Padding down the stairs, she emerged out into her desk area still swamped by the wall of evidence. Barely any light flickered from the fire beyond her mess, and she heard no noises out in the agency, but still she held her breath while yanking open drawers and digging through them.

"What are you doing?" Alistair asked, his voice hissing as he attempted to slide a shirt on over his head.

"Looking," Reiss answered back, not meaning to be smart, her brain too focused on the hunt. "I know it's here, somewhere."

"I wouldn't be surprised if you have the Sword of Mercy somehow lost in one of these boxes," Alistair mused, his fingers running over one of them.

Shuffling through sheafs of papers and upending ink bottles, Reiss ransacked her own desk about to give up hope when her prize rolled out from the back of the drawer. Leftover from a potion master case, they'd been using up the evidence as it became clear no one was going to collect the stock. A handful of the more useful but less necessary ones wound up under her eye. It was stupid, there was no reason for her to keep this one, but Lunet said it wasn't as if she'd ever need it, so it fell to the boss.

With a set in her shoulders, Reiss placed the bottle onto her desk. It drew Alistair's eye away from whatever had captured it. "Okay, I'm guessing you found whatever you needed."

"Not quite yet," she sighed. Glancing around her desk, she turned and spotted the ceremonial sword her lover gave her for saving his life. She scooped up the bottle off her desk and marched over to it. Steadying her finger, she plunged it against the point.

"What are you doing?" Alistair hissed, watching Reiss dribble a drop of blood into the bottle. It swirled with her scarlet life before fading back to crystal clear.

She held the bottle tight, her eyes hunting over it. "Blue and it's empty," she recited the mantra from what felt another lifetime ago. Alistair's fingers landed on her shoulders, kneading into the robe's neck as he must have felt her anxiety. "Red and..."

Reiss thought it'd take time, it had before, enough for her to unstick her tongue and voice the fear nibbling in her ear, but like flipping a switch the entire potion bottle turned bright red. Her fingers began to shake, the ruby liquid sloshing back and forth before she tucked it tight to her chest.

Holy shit.

"Red and...?" Alistair prompted. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"I," Reiss swallowed her fears and turned to find him. He looked panic stricken, the same fear on his face he wore when he thought she'd been lost to the darkspawn. Gently she placed her fingers to his face and sighed, "Red and there's a baby. I'm pregnant."

"You..." his eyes darted down first to the bottle declaring for all to see, then to her queasy but flat stomach. "You're, there's a...but how...? Oh shit!" he groaned, "oh shit, shit, shit! I didn't think that it would. I mean, it's been years, and years ,and..." He gulped, sweat percolating on his brow as the pair of them absorbed the news.

Pregnant.

A baby.

They were going to have a baby together.

One half elf to one half king.

"Reiss," his face was blank, his fingers curling over her cheeks as he lifted her eyes to his. "What are you thinking? Feeling?"

"I hadn't considered," she blinked, listening deep within herself. There was fear cloaked in trepidation. She'd never had a baby before. What would happen to her body, her life? But... A smile skirted around her lips, her eyes closing in a few soft tears. "I'm happy," she admitted.

"Oh thank the Maker," a great smile enveloped Alistair's face, his fingers tugging that nearly white hair skyward. "I mean, I'm ecstatic. A baby! Another! To think..." he bent over, his face skirting near her stomach to whisper, "there's one growing inside of there. And with you."

Alistair staggered up to cup her cheeks, pressing a sweet kiss to her lips, "A child with the woman I love is, well, it's beyond anything I ever dreamed of. To tickle those tiny toes and have big green eyes staring up at me while I try to craftily change a nappy without getting pissed on." He laughed in obvious joy at the thought.

"The child could have your eyes," Reiss mused, her heart opening up to the possibility. A baby tucked inside of her at this very moment, getting bigger and stronger with her every breath. Her hand wrapped tighter around her stomach. She never really paused to think that being with Alistair meant there were no children on her horizon. It was enough to be with him, but a part of her on occasion regretted the loss with a small pang.

And now...

He curled his hand around the back of hers, the pair of them clinging to this miracle of Andraste herself. "I love you," Alistair whispered.

"I love you too," Reiss smiled, trying to shake off another round of queasiness rising in her gullet. Damn, she'd have to stop blaming Lunet for it.

A baby. Maker, no matter how many times she thought it, it still sounded impossible. Inside of her.

"What do we do? What do I do?" she mused to herself.

"For now," Alistair scooped her up into his arms as effortlessly as their first year together. She giggled, nuzzling tight to his neck, "we head upstairs and celebrate. Later, we'll argue and foot stomp over whether junior should attend a prestigious charter school in the Free Marches or be trained by the Avvar in strategic loincloth placement." It was silly, she had so much to plan but...there was a good nine months left to go. He was right, for now they had something magnificent to celebrate.

Alistair carried her up a handful of stairs, when he suddenly paused, and blanched white. "And first thing tomorrow I send a missive to Lanny. She'll want to know about this unexpected side effect."


	2. And Baby Makes...

A bracing wind whipped away the sweat clinging to Cullen's brow. Alas, little could be done to the rest percolating across his back as he finished tacking up the last of the wet sheets still steaming from the boiling cauldron. They'd had help for laundry, but then the ditzy boy ran off and got married. He gave it a month before the kid returned tail between his legs and eyes casting back out of fear of a vengeful in-law.

Sounds of boots drawing up the path pulled Cullen's attention away from the lines of soggy bed linens to a man stepping proudly up the road. The sun's shadows cast his form in the dark, but Cullen would recognize that proud gait of a templar anywhere. Sliding away from his work, the ex-Knight Captain wiped off his hands against the towel knotted to his belt.

"Commander," the voice broke through the air.

Cullen glanced up to find him saluting, as he always did every trip out to the abbey. "Ser Barris," he smiled, reaching over and grasping the man's hand for a generous shake. "You know you need not call me that."

"You're due your respect, Ser, as are many sequestered here."

He rarely stayed long, but Cullen enjoyed the man's biannual visits. Barris was what one wanted in a templar, loyal but not blindly, kind but always aware, and he never talked back. Maker, after a week and a half with the squire rejects Lana hired off of Teagan, Cullen was grateful for a man who knew when to hold his tongue.

Cullen glanced back to the abbey cells, his eyes making quick note of the various colored swatches outside doors. This many years after the collapse of the order they didn't get any fresh cases, but a few were here permanently. Counting three from the left he spotted a green sign hanging off the knob. "Good timing, Ser Barris," he smiled, leading with his arm. The Knight waited until his superior took command, despite knowing exactly where he wished to go. "He is having a good day."

"Excellent, I'd hope the spring's thaw would do wonders for his constitution," Barris said, trailing behind the watchman of the refuge. A few of the harried help nodded at Cullen in deference, but they were all too busy with their work to properly salute. "How are you?"

"As well as can be expected. Winter did a number, as it always seems to in these parts of Ferelden. You're from further north, right?"

"Yes, my family at least. It feels as if I haven't been back in an age," he stared out towards the horizon with a world weary exhaustion Cullen knew far too well. Barris seemed to shake himself from it and smile, "And how is the Lady of the abbey?"

Cullen chuckled at that. "Lana's well. She's off doing something with potions at the moment, but I'm certain she'll be delighted to talk with you over dinner."

They paused outside the door to his friend's room, the Knight collapsing his hands behind him. "I shall look forward to it. She is a woman with a sharp mind."

"And a sharper tongue," Cullen sighed, rolling back and forth on his heels. "Feel free to head in, you know the drill."

"Thank you, Commander," Barris nodded before pausing. "Oh, I nearly forgot. My path crossed with a messenger bringing this note addressed to the Lady..." He passed over a folded sheet of vellum. Cullen's gut sank before he even caught the familiar seal of the Theirin family.

"Wonderful," he murmured, pocketing it to give to his wife later.

"Unwelcome news?"

"More unwelcome sender," Cullen groaned. They'd been writing near on constant, a lot of it on Lana's side as she prodded her friend and duplicate test subject to keep her informed at all costs. No doubt the King suffered a bout of heartburn and thought it imperative to inform her. On the plus side, at least he didn't arrive here with a retinue to tell her.

"Forgive me for impeding you. Please, head on in," Cullen stepped back, giving Barris enough room to prop open the door. The sound drew the attentions of a silver haired man who'd been perched upon the bed knitting a scarf that had surpassed twelve feet.

"Do you remember me, Derrik?" Barris asked, the door shutting before Cullen could overhear the answer.

He glanced down at the remaining sheets waiting to be strung up like bandits, but perhaps he should deliver this letter to Lana. Where was his wife, anyway? He prodded first into her potions room, where he'd last seen her this morning, but it sat empty and mostly clean. The kitchen staff only shrugged, no one having seen her since morning. She couldn't have gone off to pick herbs, nearly nothing had sprouted out of the ground and Honor was fast asleep in her kennel. Even with a muzzle of snow, she always followed Lana to protect her.

Cullen's question grew to concern as he began to peek his head into every room. Maker's sake, there weren't that many in the abbey. This shouldn't be so difficult. It wasn't until he debated if it was worth it to signal the Arl and see if Lana wandered off to the near hunting lodge that he thought to check their room. A slight tremor grew in his hand, the fear of losing her beating its fists upon his heart, as he grabbed onto the doorknob.

Thanks to a fresh oiling, the door opened smoothly to reveal a mass of curls perched over the back of a chair. Breath filled his body as the head whipped back and forth, Lana's hand reaching forward to match a quill jabbing into a book. She was fine, and working. Why was he even worried? She was always working.

Swallowing down the concern in his voice, Cullen slid into the room and tried to silently close the door. The tug of wind caused her candle's flame to dance forward, Lana whipping her head towards him. He smiled, "You're never going to guess who's back. It's..."

Lana rose to her feet quickly. Shuffling towards him without a cane, she grabbed onto Cullen's hand and placed it against her lower stomach. "Feel," she commanded.

"All right," he cupped tighter against the blue dress clinging to her soft belly. "I..." Cullen shook his head, "I'm not certain what I'm looking for." He thought it a strange game, certain she was about to laugh, until looking up into her eyes. Her face was stricken, nearly pale as ash, the bottom lip trembling.

"Not with your hand," she sneered, "with your mind."

"With my...what?" He was fully lost now, fearing this was all some prank but Lana looked spooked beyond measure.

"Please," she begged, a sliver of a tear welling up in her eye. Moved to action, Cullen tried to steady himself deeper inside to the abandoned templar skills. He had no idea what he was looking for, or supposed to be feeling. There was Lana, his wife, his reason for getting up in the morning. Her warm body pressed tight to his drew up memories to him of when it was her bare skin instead of the thick linen. He'd skirted his fingers to her stomach before dawn to hold her tight to him. Cullen thought he'd been quiet, but no, she woke and cuddled deeper to his body, entertained with his failed subtlety. Her laugh had rumbled up through his palm because she was so full of life.

Life.

His eyes flew open, Cullen's tongue falling slack as he mouthed the word again, "Life?" Barely more than a flutter of a butterfly's wings, this other life beat through her own, from inside her. "Lana..." he swallowed, "what is this? What's inside of you? Are you okay? Is there some, are you infested with a parasite?"

She cupped his cheeks with her hands, tugging him to her forehead. "In a manner of speaking..." More of her weight fell against his body, Cullen wrapping an arm around her waist while the other remained tight to her abdomen as if he could banish whatever was festering inside of her.

"Cullen, I...Maker's sake, I can't believe I'm about to say this." Lana gulped, the glistening tears dribbling off her cheek. "I still don't believe it, even after..."

"What? Please, tell me," he begged, the tremors beginning again.

"I'm pregnant," she said, lifting one shoulder in a shrug.

"You, you're...it's not a dangerous creature inside of you?" He clung to the other probable eventuality because that idea, that fact of a...was even more unimaginable than anything else to befall her.

"No, at least not until it's had a good thirteen years or so to grow," she chuckled once, but it was a solemn and uncertain laugh.

"What? How?" he stumbled through any word that he hoped would explain this impossibility, but none would suffice.

Lana brushed her fingers against his forehead, "I was checking potions, the validity and strength of the health ones. Simple. Distillation had been a bit...never mind. In order to do it, I had to dip into the fade, measure my life force such as it is. And that's when I felt it. Something."

She turned from him to swipe an arm across an array of bottles and scribbled notes. "I ran every test I could think of, cast every spell, even performed a few old wives tales because I was running out of ideas. And every single one came up the same."

"Pregnant?" Cullen swallowed hard, what felt like a thousand nails sliding down his throat. This was the exact possibility that was never supposed to happen in their lives. He'd accepted it, embraced it, almost reveled in it, and now...

"Maker's breath," he swooped up his wife, all but snuggling her in his arms, "are you, how are you feeling?"

"Confused, and more confused," she gasped, her hands curling up to cling to his back. "I didn't think, never suspected that removing the taint would. That many years I'd assumed there'd be deleterious effects upon my..." She pressed her face tight to his chest while Cullen parted her curls, "This wasn't supposed to happen."

A single laugh broke through his chest, his wife lifting away to stare into his eyes. He cupped her cheek and in a soft voice said, "Lana, the blight wasn't supposed to happen. Kirkwall wasn't supposed to happen. Maker knows Corypheus wasn't supposed to."

"We've survived a lot of the unexpected," she said, a smile flitting with her lush lips.

"Very much so."

"Cullen, I..." her eyes darted down, "I want to be happy, I think. Excited, but I'm scared. The very potion that allowed this is in its infantile stages, tested on a few blighted animals and then two humans. What if...?"

Her shoulders began to quiver, her lips falling slack as she sucked in a breath. He read her fears because the same scrawled upon his heart. "If," pressing her tight to his chest, he began to rock back and forth with her body in his arms, "if it doesn't take, then it's not meant to be. I will love you no matter what."

A smile lifted a moment and she pressed her face against his chest, responding in kind. Chuckling, she raised her head, "That explains why I've been so moody lately. Silliest little thing just sends my mind flailing."

 _Maker's breath, a child?_ He was nearing his forties with every breath and they were going to have a baby. A little, fragile baby raised in this abbey full of sick, dying, and mind-addled Templars. Deep inside of Cullen the panic began, jerking its finger at every way this would fail, but he wouldn't let it catch. Lana needed him to be her rock.

She was trying to dab up her tears, shaking her head. "I never considered, I mean, I know how to deliver babies. I can feel when there's a breach, or if the child is in distress. But carrying one...what do I do? Is there something I should eat? Drink?"

"Food, you'll probably want food. I doubt any will blink an eye at your appetite returning to what it once was," he smiled, somehow being the calm one. She was filling with another soul growing inside of her, not him. Ever since he plucked her out of the Fade, Cullen felt as if Lana was another part of him, but perhaps for the first time he realized how foreign she truly was. A child becoming one half of her and one half of him, tucked away inside of her womb. It was terrifying and awe inspiring as well.

"There are books, probably. I should order some from Val Royeaux to read and..." Lana's eyes began to hunt around the room, searching for no doubt a quill or catalog.

"Lana," he cupped her cheeks, softly focusing her upon him, "we'll get it. You'll use your beautiful mind to no doubt prepare for any eventuality that could possibly occur."

"Me?" she scoffed, "says the man who approaches spring cleaning like he's leading an army through the mountains." The woman he loved returned, her panic ebbing away as she blinked her bottomless eyes up at him.

Cullen sighed, well aware of his faults. "I can get in contact with Mia. She's carried a few children, and I suspect will be a calming influence for us both."

"Wait," Lana's hand caught his as if afraid he was about to do just that. "We should wait a few months, until we're sure that...it could be lost, or washed away." Pain lanced through her eyes; she was scared to grow attached to the life inside of her for fear that the taint that once filled her veins would wipe it away.

Right. Cullen dipped down and scooped his wife into his arms. She gasped in surprise as he led her to their shared bed and placed her gently onto it. "What are you doing?"

"You're going to need your rest," he said.

"Maker's breath, it's not as if the baby's going to come popping out right this second," she chastised him.

It was meant as a joke, but the image caught in Cullen's throat. A child, his child...there could be a boy or girl of his blood in this world. Shaking off the enormity of the concept, he sat down onto the bed and twisted to roll his eyes right into hers.

Their noses bounced against each another, Cullen's hawk-like beak jabbing into her round one. Lana smiled at it, but the question was still there. What was he doing? Wrapping an arm over her side, he whispered to her beautiful brown eyes, "Let's lay here, together, just...talking. Worrying, fretting, laughing, I don't know. Being together..."

Her lips lifted in a quick smile, which she pressed against his mouth. Those pillowy lips softened, the warmth and taste of her overwhelming him. "Okay, together," she breathed against his cheek.

"Always," Cullen responded. He moved to snuggle her tight against him, when the memory struck. Rolling his eyes, his fingers pried out the short missive from the King, "I nearly forgot, you received a message."

She ran her fingers over it, seeming uninterested in the outside world for now, but then her eyes caught the seal and Lana sat up. Cracking it, she devoured quickly what looked like only a few sentences. Cullen followed, an arm wrapping around her shoulder as he asked, "What's the man want now?"

"He wrote to inform me that Reiss is with child," she said, the letter thudding to her lap. Lana twisted her head to him as she finished, "And that we should take precautions just in case."

"I wonder if that man has ever managed to accomplish anything properly?" Cullen sneered.

"Well, if she's really knocked up, there's at least once thing we know of," Lana laughed, earning a glare from her husband. She was quick to kiss it away, those soft fingers combing through his stubble as she guided him back to the bed with her. "I guess, no matter what happens, we're in this together. All four of us."

Not one but two babies, both with the potential to be tainted. And out of them, the only one with any experience in this matter was Alistair. The Maker has a real sense of humor sometimes.


	3. If He Asks

12 weeks along...

 

Blade flying through the air, Reiss threw up her arm just in time to deflect it against her bracer. "So much for you innocence, Cedric," she hissed at the human she all but fished out of the sewers. Bedraggled and scrawnier than most elves, he was nothing but bones and skin...and, sadly, a few knives pressed into his palms she failed to take into account.

He shrieked, the first knife's blade sailing harmlessly by, but the second she had no easy way to block. Reiss tried to scurry back out of the culvert when she pressed tight to the wall. The knife's edge zipped back and forth through the air like a mad fly until slicing through her coat and sticking deep into her upper arm. Hissing in pain, she glanced over to find blood pooling across the not as well oiled hide of her signature coat.

"Fine, you want to do this the hard way," she sneered, drawing the sword off her belt. Cedric was little more than a two copper thug in Denerim, one she'd rather not cut down if only for the sake of whoever had to clean up the body. But something must have spooked him good. Was he worried about selling out a bigger boss?

Rolling her shoulders back into an instant soldier stance, Reiss' blade met first against one dagger, then the second. Striking hard enough to bend back Cedric's wrist, the dagger scattered to the shit filled swamp running below their feet. Even the bastard on his last leg wasn't stupid enough to go fishing for it. Still, he stared down in surprise before flipping his grip on the one remaining dagger. Good for going high, but it wasn't going to save him.

Reiss' foot lashed out, the steel tip of her boots crunching into a knee. With no fat or muscle to get in the way, the bone all but shattered from her force, Cedric plummeting down. Smoothly, Reiss slid in behind him, her blade drawing tight to the ropey neck. The man trembled, terrified of how easily she could snuff him out.

"Nice try," she mocked when a woosh of the stench of shit and urine collapsed off of Cedric's stringy hair. It kicked right into her tender stomach all but causing spots to burst in her eyes, but she hung on. "Now," Reiss coughed, trying to squelch her queasiness, "we're gonna do this again. Who paid you to slip the black lotus under Miss Simon's door?"

Cedric mouthed a few words, no doubt coming off whatever he snorted to go into a blood rage -- as if that gave any fighting advantage for a street bully to take on a soldier. She tipped her ear closer, the blade glittering by the haunting lantern lights put out by the forgotten souls surviving in the sewers, when a clattering of boots echoed down the culvert.

Her head snapped up to find another two of Cedric's group standing at the entrance. One carried a flail, most likely to do more damage to himself than anyone he attacked, and the other was clutching a crossbow. The criminal in her fingers began to chuckle, as if he had anyway out of this. Sadly, the arrival of his pals did change things, but not for his betterment.

"I'd hoped to avoid bloodshed this evening," Reiss groaned, not in the mood to blot out all the stains. The other two hopped back and forth, as twitchy as Cedric.

"Give 'em to us and we'll let you go, knife-ear," the taller one brayed.

With her face shadowed below her hat, giving her an even more demonic look, Reiss' attentions shifted from one man to the other making certain they were watching. "No deal," she snarled and drew the blade clean across Cedric's throat. Blood spurted through the air, a professional knowing how to scissor the artery to exsanguinate the body fast. Reiss kept a tight hold to the dead man's corpse in the off chance crossbow remembered he had it, but she needn't bother.

Faces stained white with terror, both men beat a hasty retreat. Loyalty that could be purchased only lasted when there wasn't a fear of death in the air. Hurling Cedric to the ground, Reiss whistled through the air and sheathed her blade. She made it a few feet out of the sewer to find one man cowering in the corner while Muse bared his teeth and snarled. The other was flat out on the ground, both dwarven twins digging into the criminal's spine while cuffing him.

"Boss," Jorel called while his brother finished cinching up the restraints. "What do you want done with 'em?"

"Take 'em to the guard house for now. They'll have to sober up before anyone's getting a word out," Reiss instructed.

"P...p-please, call off your war hound," the second man whimpered from behind his hands. She whistled again, drawing Muse off from the man. Like stepping on a trap, the snarling beast transformed into the lovable goof that often rolled in dead fish he found behind the agency. Jorel was quick to cuff the second assailant, but he needn't have bothered. After that scare, the man seemed incapable of standing due to his trembling legs.

"Not bad," Lunet said while stepping out of the shadows. She had a giant longbow slung over her shoulders in the event something went wrong. "You're gonna have that shit eating grin for a week, ain't ya?"

Reiss sighed, but not too deeply at the insubordination. One, because it came from perhaps her dearest friend, and two, Lunet had the same grin. They'd been pursuing these shits for weeks and it'd be nice to put a pin in it all. Turning to look over her shoulder, pain seized up her arm and Reiss cupped the wound still weeping blood.

"Maker's taint, you got stabbed?" Lunet reached over as if she could see the damage through her coat and large tunic.

"It's nothing, a scratch. Still, better get it cleaned up," she sighed. "Men," Reiss ordered, "take care of those two, and get paperwork from the guardhouse upon their release. No way we're letting Fettain take credit for our work. Detective Lunet and I will be back at the agency."

"Yes, Ser," both saluted before hauling up the men.

Reiss leaned down to the agency's pet mabari, "Stick with 'em Muse. They may need backup."

Muse woofed once and gave chase while Reiss and Lunet turned back to walk to their business. It didn't take long to find their sign teetering in the wind. The damn lock stuck, often leaving the door wedged slightly open, but no one even this close to the alienage was stupid enough to try and break in. You don't want to go robbing from people who are known for solving robberies. Reiss yanked off her hat, placing it upon the hook beside the door, then unfurled her coat.

"I think it stopped bleeding," she mused to herself, inspecting the jagged wound that shrieked pain across her brain when touching it. Refraining from that would probably be wise then. Lunet didn't say anything, only twisted a chair around and patted the seat.

"Let me take a look," she sighed, digging out their kit from a bottom drawer. A pair of bottles holding medicinal grade alcohol answered in kind but she left them behind.

As Reiss settled down, she began to roll up the tunic that billowed across her tiny form. No one said much about their boss suddenly wearing larger shirts from out of nowhere. She was glad not to have anyone pressing questions, but also disappointed. Their job was to notice things off from the norm and draw conclusions. Maybe they needed to have more training.

"Ah!" Reiss hissed, pain searing across her arm as Lunet drew back a cloth that stung. "That hurts!"

"No shit, getting stabbed'll do that," she mused, her dark eyes little more than pupils in the low light of the agency. Lunet unraveled a string of catgut and began to thread the needle. "I can stitch it up, but maybe you should get it looked at proper. By one o' them college mages."

"It's a little cut, Lune. I don't think it'll kill me," Reiss sighed, tipping her head back and trying to not jump every time the needle bit into her flesh.

"This ain't little. Paper cuts are little. It's pretty deep into the meat, Rat."

"So?" She wasn't leaving a trail of blood in her wake, nor about to pass out in a back alley. "We've cleaned up far worse off each other over the years."

"Maybe, but you weren't carrying an extra passenger at the time, neither."

Reiss blinked, her hand cupping against the stomach that finally calmed down. It'd been nearly six weeks of constant churning as if she couldn't escape from a ship. Most of her crew learned that when the boss said to get out of the way, you best dive for the sidelines.

"Just because there's a...I'm not exactly made out of egg shells, Lunet. I can handle myself just fine."

"Uh huh," her friend grunted, the sutures far tighter than they ever used as it wasted precious catgut, "and what if the knife hadn't been for your arm? What if it nicked through your belly instead?"

"Impossible," Reiss dismissed the thought, "Cedric's hands weren't capable of reaching far enough over to..." At her friend's look, Reiss paused. "What?"

Lunet slunk back into her chair, the bloody needle still poised in her fingers. "If it were just you full of some dockworker's brat, I wouldn't say nothing. Shit, I'd expect you to be out there walking the beat at eight months popped and counting." They both remembered the expectations of oncoming mothers in the watch. You either sucked it up, or you were replaced.

"Reiss, this ain't nothing. This is the King's," Lunet gestured to her womb as if a fabled jewel was jammed inside instead of a tiny fetus.

It wasn't the best conversation Reiss had ever had with Lunet when she told her, but it wasn't the worst either. Lunet at least got on with Alistair, to some extent, but she could read all the concerns in her friend's face. Unwed mother, squirreling away near an alienage, an elf filling with a human-blooded child. None of that would play well to the community. Perhaps it was Reiss' admitting she knew shit wouldn't be easy but stubbornly going ahead anyway that eased Lunet's fears. She'd been sworn to secrecy, nearly no one else made aware until Reiss felt it was time and there was less a chance of losing this miraculous surprise. After the first three months passed, she started to think she was really waiting until there was no more denying it.

"Plenty of women are walking around Denerim right now pregnant, and they're fine," Reiss said, shaking her head. She never thought she'd have to explain this to Lunet.

"And how many of them are about to birth a kid with royal blood? I mean, do you know how many he's been sniffing around since you went up the duff?" She tacked on, earning a sneer from Reiss.

"Lune..."

"Wha'? Men are fickle, so I hear," Lunet tied off the suture and snipped it free. She'd on occasion make light about the idea of Alistair being romantically involved with anything that moved, if only because the idea was so preposterous. Normally, Reiss would laugh along, but there was clearly something else weighing on her mind.

"Okay, what's going on?" Reiss asked, reaching over with her sutured up arm to grip onto Lunet's cold fingers.

"You ain't obvious now, so it's a fun little secret, but... Shit, Rat, have you thought about what'll come once you're waddling around with a bulging gut?"

"I'll take a few months off, that's a given," Reiss said.

"Right, then you'll have a baby. Kinda loud, demanding, known to keep people up at all hours. You really think you're gonna be able to head right back in to work once it slithers out from between your legs?"

Reiss shuddered, "You make birth sound so appealing. Maybe it'll take awhile to adjust, but..."

"Maybe? Rye, that's someone with a claim to riches and lands beyond any of our wild dreams squatting inside you. Don't tell me you're so deluded to think you can just pop back in here as if nothing's changed after it's emerged into the world."

"Lune..." Reiss scooted forward, trying to catch her friend's for once wandering eye.

"And for all the crap I give him, ain't no way the King's gonna let you drag your little baby down to this shit hole. He'll want you both perfumed and pillowed up at the palace. Safe like," she jerked her chin at the red and oozing wound, "where no bastard's daggers can hurt you."

"Look, I can't claim to see into the future. This whole thing is new and I'm making it up as I go, but Maker's sake...this is my life, Lunet. This agency, all of you. I've been building it for nearly three years, that's far longer than the baby. I'm not going to give it up just because there's a child in my life too. It can stretch to fit, we'll find a way."

Lunet stared at her hands, seeming in disbelief, but her lips lifted in a half smile, "Is that a promise?"

"For as little as my name is worth," Reiss admitted. She'd been so busy worried about her stomach not upending itself with every step she never stopped to think what this baby would mean to everyone else around her.

"Good enough, I suppose," Lunet chuckled. Then her eyes wandered over to the cut that was about to bruise terribly. "Gonna tell the King about that?"

Reiss drew her fingers softly against the sutures and sighed. Rolling her sleeve back down to hide it, she admitted, "Only if he asks."


	4. A Little Rain

_14 weeks along..._

 

Don't even think about it!

Alistair glared at a dark cloud that went and gathered a good ten of its buddies together to crash what had been a very nice picnic he planned hard for. An elegant spread of cheeses once tucked inside the basket were now being slowly digested by the pair of them. He even snuck out the really good blanket off his bed, which -- considering the mess of grass stains and bugs -- may have not been such a wise idea. Ah, that's what washings were for.

Perched back on her elbows, this impossible woman stared down across the lonely hills. She'd wandered up them back when the sun was still able to hustle out the imposing clouds. Thanks to this gorgeous late-spring day, Reiss abandoned her fancy Solver coat and hat for little more than an old tunic that he swore was clinging tighter to certain parts of her anatomy he shouldn't speak of in polite company. Speaking of them in impolite company would cause Alistair to giggle like a gibbering nug and probably drool a little.

Reiss wiped a hand across her forehead and gazed over at him. "Tell me again, for the official record when Karelle or anyone else comes looking for you, why are we out here?"

Smiling, Alistair tipped back on his side to slide closer to her. He draped a hand down over her stomach -- still flat but give it time. "Because," he cupped his fingers up and down imagining them bulging with the baby inside of her. Catching her flash of verdant eyes, he melted, "I wanted to celebrate with you."

"That's..." Reiss began before Alistair caught her lips in a kiss. She tasted of the nutty brown cheese he snuck out that supposedly paired best with whatever wine was in your glass. As he pulled back, she hobbled herself onto one elbow to part her fingers down through his hair. "That's all we've been doing every time I see you."

"No, there's been other stuff. We, uh, we talked about...um," he blinked, his mind tumbling off a cliff. There had to have been more. Her casework, or whatever Lunet was up to, but somehow that all kept rolling back into baby things. How was she handling walking the streets while their little nub with limbs grew? What did Lunet think of it? Was she already on the line for babysitting?

Reiss roughed up the grey scruff along his jaw and she tugged him closer, "I know you're excited." As the kiss faded, Alistair let his forehead brush against hers. Skin so warm it drew him tighter, the very joy of spring radiating off of her. Reiss seemed to be wearing pregnancy well once the sickness part wound down. There was a glisten in her eyes, and whenever he caught her rubbing her stomach the apples of her cheeks would light up. She was excited too, even if she had to be the more practical one.

"Ooh, I know," Alistair scurried to the edge of the blanket and hefted up one of her boots. "I'll rub your feet."

"Why?" she lifted an eyebrow, but didn't stop him from unlacing her shoes to place to the side.

Digging in with the pads of his hand, Alistair shrugged, "That's what the father does, right? Rub feet, fetch weird foods in the middle of the night, and pass out little celebratory bottles of wine."

"You damn well better do more than..." Reiss' sentence trailed off as he pressed both thumbs hard against the ball of her foot. A groan and then a, "dear Maker" erupted instead, Alistair unable to shake the smile. "Okay, that's good. Keep doing that."

"As you command," he chuckled, grateful to be helping. It was a bit strange to be technically on his third impending child, but to never have really experienced pregnancy. At least not with the mother puking while he held her hair, or snuggled up to his chest while she regaled him with whatever freakish new thing her body did that day.

Switching to the other foot, Alistair expected Reiss to tip back, to lay down and gaze up at the tree branches above them, but she waved her fingers and snapped. "No, you give me your feet."

"What? Why?"

"Because I said so," a curious quirk twisted up her lips and he had to obey. Sliding in between her legs, Alistair stretched his celery stalks out beside her shoulders while he dug back in to his work. With determination, even as she groaned for more, Reiss undid the tight laces on his boots and, sure enough, began to massage his feet.

"Okay, now that's really pointless. I'm not even..." Alistair began before he felt the muscles in his ankle and his calf coming undone. The knot up half of his leg fell apart into a puddle of relaxation. "Sweet merciful Andraste," he gasped, "I had no idea you could do that."

She smirked, "You're telling me the King doesn't regularly have someone rub his feet? What about Charles?"

"No way, that man knows far too many secrets about my traitorous body to be reduced to foot rubber. He's probably paid the best of anyone in the castle just so he doesn't go blabbing."

"He knows more than me?" Reiss kept on digging in, both hands working through his toes while she pushed his ankles tighter against her chest. It caused her breasts to squish in, Alistair's brain clicking away at the bobbing and weaving.

"Huh? Uh, yeah, he knows what horrors can occur if I consume certain things. I want you to be able to look at me again without having to gouge your eyes out." He felt an awkward blush rising up his cheeks at that. It was rather foolish, not as if she hadn't seen him in varying stages due to illness, drink, or a dangerous case of idiocy. But he loved the way she stared at him, even when naked. No screaming, no running for the hills. Reiss always looked as if she was trying to chisel the view into her memory for all of eternity.

She paused in her massage and tapped her chin, "It's olives, isn't it?"

"By the void, how did you...?"

Shrugging, she pointed to her nonexistent hat. "My job." Unable to take anymore, Alistair yanked his legs back in order to crawl over top of her. Reiss' uncertainty turned into a great smile as he cupped her jaw with one hand and yanked out the bun with the other. In the middle of the kiss, she leaned back to laugh, then shook her golden hair free.

"Maker's breath, I love you," Alistair whispered, his fingers free to part through her hair that seemed to be getting shinier. The baby's doing or perhaps it was the promise of summer? During official meetings it took all his control to not pull it apart, comb it with his fingers, or lay it against his upper lip to make a mustache. Here, alone, he could do whatever he wanted.

"I love you too," Reiss smiled, "which is good seeing as how we made a baby together."

"Can it be called a baby yet? Isn't it more like a nuglet?"

"Nuglet? Maker, no, you are not calling this a nuglet. I refuse for my sake, and Karelle's poor eyesight. She's liable to go blind from rolling her eyes so hard at that."

Alistair guffawed at her certainty, and the fact she was probably right about Karelle. He reached down to run his fingers over the back of her neck and tug her closer, when a drop of water landed upon her exposed collar. It took a moment for his brain to figure it out, two more water droplets splattering upon her chest, when he finally felt the rain land on his back. Tipping his head back, Alistair stared into the grey sky just as the downpour began.

"Maker's bloody nails," he cursed, water quickly drenching his eyes. He had to wipe it away, more of the rain making it through their minimal leafy cover as the clouds of doom finally doomed all over them. "I swear this wasn't supposed to happen," he cursed again, staring down at the hill overlooking Denerim. Somewhere way at the bottom was where shelter would be. He groaned, prepared to make a run for it, when the sweetest sound caught him. Reiss had her head tipped back, her mouth open as the fresh rain dripped down her throat. After every catch she'd laugh before returning for more.

"Should we, uh," he jerked a thumb back down the hill, when his eyes wandered down from her face to the wet shirt suckered to her chest. The cold rainwater drew her nipples out, the linen drenched enough to provide nearly the entire tempting outline of her beautiful breasts. Alistair stuttered around a few more ums and uhs, hoping that she wouldn't notice he was locked up on her chest bouncing with her laughter.

Reiss reached forward, her fingers snagging through the back of his hair. It was enough to draw his eyes to hers and he nearly yelped from the lust burning inside them. "Should we what?" she purred before yanking him to her. Her rain splattered lips plied his apart, letting her tongue dip in to find his. It tasted even warmer than usual, Alistair sliding up to his knees to match her voracity. His hands cupped along her waist, slicking her soaked shirt tighter to that body he was aching to touch.

Seeming to have the same idea, Reiss began to unbutton his mud stained mess that was going to cause so much tongue clucking back at the palace. She refused to stop kissing him while yanking it down, his shirt snagging at the wrists, but all she wanted was to touch his bare shoulders. Fat, wet water drops plopped upon his exposed skin, one landing right into that clavicle crease. Moaning at it, Reiss dipped down to lap the rainwater off his shoulders, the warmth of her breath causing a noticeable strain to build in his pants.

"Are..." He should ask. He was an adult. It was chilly with the rain. And she was pregnant. Good to look out for her and all. "Are you sure...?" Alistair began again, when those mischievous green eyes snapped into his.

Fuck being the grown up.

Reiss yelped in surprise and joy as he dove with her back onto the blanket. A few drops plopped onto her face, one heading near her eye. She scrunched up her nose, the broken side crinkling even more than usual while trying to fend off the rain attack. At first Alistair tried waving his hands over her face to stop them, then he realized his fat head would serve as better cover. Rain dripped against the back of his skull as he kissed her with all the heat building up through the lower sections of his body. It moved from the loins section down his thighs and then up through his belly. He halfway expected to glance down and find his crotch glowing.

Shaking off the thought, his hands traipsed down her chest, even while his unbuttoned shirt tugged tight across his back. She was wearing this enticing dip to the shirt, where the laces cut off just before there was a swell of her newfound cleavage. Alistair tugged the edge of the neckline further down and placed his hot mouth against her glistening skin.

"Oh Maker," Reiss moaned as first his one hand, then the other cupped under her breasts. So soaked, it was almost as if she was wearing nothing. Alistair could nearly feel the softness of her skin below. Walking his fingers higher, he circled around her nipples -- Reiss chuckling below him -- when he gently knocked one then the other up.

That set off her buzzing. She tried to stuff her fingers in her mouth as if to stop it, but Alistair was quick to reach out and catch them. He loved when she did that buzzing. Sometimes to the point if he wasn't careful around the beehives, he could face some very pointed questions from the keepers. Reiss let her hand fall from her mouth, the buzzing increasing as she gripped onto his shoulders instead.

He wanted her naked.

But that wasn't smart.

Oh, sod smart.

Digging his fingers under her shirt, his knuckles glanced across Reiss' warm stomach as he yanked the clinging garment off of her. Alistair was about to toss it to the side, when he noticed how muddy the ground got. After carefully placing it on the blanket, he turned over and his breath fully caught in his throat.

Lain back, rain drops glistening upon her skin making her look even dewier than usual, Reiss was a fairy. An ethereal being plucked from the fade itself, given the perfect form to taunt him beyond his wildest dreams. Her golden hair circled her head, the rain beading in it like dew drops upon rose petals. More rain dripped down her breasts, the freed nipples calling for him to ravage both in kisses. But he was spellbound, a single hand glancing across her scarred stomach as the rainy colors drew forth even more of her freckles.

"Alistair?" He had no idea how many times she had to say his name before he snapped free of the spell.

"I want you," he breathed and Reiss laughed.

"No kidding," she drew her fingers down his naked stomach to cup the obvious bulge in his pants.

He gasped, lost in the rising thrum of her fingers circling for his dick straining against water drenched trousers. "You're so..."

Reiss unbuttoned the fly, quickly yanking his pants and anything else in the way down. With a quirk to her lips, she ordered, "Just do me already."

_Oh Maker!_

Alistair made quick work tugging her pants down, Reiss' water kissed lips plundering his skin for fresh rain. Even with the chill in the air, he could feel himself growing harder, his balls tightening in anticipation as her warm mouth drifted down to press against his nipple. Stumbling from excitement, he yanked off the rest of his offending trousers, no longer caring if they were banished to the muddy hill.

His dick in full salute, Alistair stood upon his knees staring down at her. Rain beaded up in her tuft of blonde pubic hair, each drop seeming to whisper a quick hello before rolling down towards where he ached for. Too lost in the view, Alistair didn't realize Reiss hooked her legs back around his ass, until she sat up to kiss him.

"Fuck me," Alistair gasped in shock as he tumbled back to land on his butt, Reiss taking the high ground.

Groaning, she rolled her eyes, "That's what I'm trying to do."

As his hands slid up to cover her breasts, she straddled his dick and slowly dropped down onto it. "Sweet merciful Andraste!" Alistair gasped, lost in every delectable twist and turn inside of her. Her very warm, so damn intoxicating inside bits.

Reiss smiled, her tongue lapping along her lips to lick up a raindrop as her eyes caught his. She was being daring, about to drive him wild, when Alistair softly pinched into her nipples. That threw his love off, her straining thighs shaking a moment as she almost tumbled forward. Her hot breath buffeted into his ear, gasping to come back, when she whispered, "Do it again."

Happy to oblige, Alistair gave into her wild whims as she rose up higher and began to thrust onto him. _Maker's balls_. Shit, his balls. It was slow at first, taking the time to enjoy every minute moment sliding deeper and shallower through this woman. His lips wandered, first to hers, then down her chest. When he kissed her nipple, she moaned.

Reiss gripped onto the nape of his neck and began to lean backwards. With her throat buzzing, her tempo increased dramatically, all that gorgeous flesh enveloping his. Alistair gripped onto her back with one hand and reached in between them with the other. Gently at first, he rubbed invigorating circles over the top of her clit.

"Dear Maker," Reiss moaned, her legs beginning to tremble on top of his. He dug his fingers into her spine, afraid she might suddenly slip while Alistair kept teasing her with his fingers. A breath caught in her throat, her eyelids fluttering as she rocked her hips back and forth over him. Gasping, her fingernails dug tight as he watched her face twist up into a joyous release. Her vagina pulsed around his dick, hugging it tighter as the orgasm walloped her body. When she began to pitch backwards, Alistair grabbed on with both arms.

Her eyes slid open and she had the goofiest smile on as if he told her the worst joke imaginable. Slowly, he tipped downward with her, making certain to not break anything. As her body touched down on the blanket, Alistair kissed the tip of her nose. Reiss wiggled it a bit, and with an envious dexterity tugged her leg up to her chest. The breath was about to pass out of his body from the visual, when she slid it in between his legs.

What was...? _Oh shit._

When her other leg joined the first, Alistair braced himself and thrusted his hips to delve deep inside. It was so tight, her wet warmth suckered against his dick and he swore it was tightening with every thrust. He screwed his eyes up, struggling to keep going even as white spots burned at the edges. Reiss' wandering hands gripped onto his shoulders, her voice crying for something as she tried to yank him deeper inside.

With one final push, Alistair thrusted as far as he could when the cascade began. "Dear ss...nakes!" his brain was incoherent, words tumbling from his mouth while he was lost in the tremors ransacking his body, his cum pumping up through his dick into her.

Reiss' eyes popped open and she smiled, "Snakes?"

"Can't think, too...thing," he waved a hand through the air, but had to replace it fast for fear he'd fall on top of her.

"Ridden hard and put away wet?" she snickered, an eyebrow quirked up.

"Maker's breath," he unhitched himself from the deadly Snow Dragon trap and then cuddled above her, "more than you can imagine." Her bright eyes stared up at him, Reiss' hair scattered across the blanket like a ball of golden thread the cat got into. Chuckling to himself at the idea, Alistair leaned down to kiss her when a shaft of sunlight illuminated the side of her face.

Sure enough, he twisted his head up to find the rain had not only stopped but those wicked clouds already blew on to ruin someone else's picnic. He was about to laugh, point out his terrible luck, when he stopped and sighed to himself. Maybe the rain was trying to do him a favor instead. Curling a hand along the beautiful and very naked woman's waist, Alistair smiled. It was a good favor.

"What's running through your mind, now?" Reiss asked, her eyebrows meeting in the middle.

"That I owe the rain my gratitude," he breathed before sliding onto his side. The blanket was soaked, as was the ground, and no doubt their clothes. He could, probably should hang them up to dry, but instead he cupped his body against Reiss'. She remained upon her back, her fingers flitting through his hair while Alistair wrapped one arm under her head and the other across her chest. It was tempting to bury his head in her chest but he settled for the shoulder instead.

They lay like that, silently breathing each other in, Reiss fingers tugging apart his hair, Alistair pressing his lips to the goosebumps rising up her skin. With the rains passed, the birds resumed their happy singing -- each one doing his best to find some lovely lady bird to settle down with and make a few cute eggs. Just as they had, just as they would.

"We're going to have a baby," Alistair whispered. He hated to admit it, but he kept pinching himself for fear this was all a trick of the fade. That it could vanish in the night if he wasn't careful. They hadn't told anyone, well, he hadn't. Which meant a lot of people in the castle would catch their King grinning stupidly while staring out the window and wonder if he'd finally lost what few marbles he began with.

His fingers skirted down past Reiss' cleavage to cup against her stomach that wasn't showing any signs save that she ate a good pile of cheese with him. A smile lifted up her cheeks and she cuddled her hand behind his. "Yup," she sighed, "it's in there doing whatever babies do at this stage."

"Eat, grow, eat some more," Alistair shrugged. "That's pretty much all they do for the first three months or so once they're out too." He felt her eye rolling towards him, and he smiled, "But they're cute while doing it."

Reiss settled back, her free hand cushioning her mess of hair, but the other clung to him holding her. "Are you at all worried about people stumbling across their King naked in the meadow with an elf?"

"Not really," he admitted. Maybe in his younger days he'd have scrabbled for pants, but as long as no swarm of angry hornets came for him, he didn't care. Alistair didn't want to leave this beautiful picture of his body wrapped around the woman he loved, fresh from rutting around in the wildflower strewn meadow, with skin dewey from rain.

Reiss snuggled closer, her cheek brushing up against his nose as she whispered, "Good. I suppose we should begin doing typical baby things. Weigh names and such?"

"Mordock the destroyer."

"Mordock...?"

"The destroyer, got to have the last bit otherwise what's the point?" Alistair said with dead certainty in his voice.

He could feel her eyes trying to peel away the sarcasm, but she merely shrugged, "Is this for a boy or...?"

"Doesn't matter. Boy or girl, destroying's rather universal."

"I guess I should start a list then," Reiss kept on playing with him, as if she considered his ramblings serious.

Sliding up to an elbow, Alistair stared down at her face. It took a moment before she opened her eyes, braving the sun to smile up at him. When Reiss drew her fingers against his cheek, a hint of a blush bloomed to turn his white whiskers rose colored. Alistair turned to try and hide the burst of emotion as he placed his lips against her palm.

"I love you," he murmured, feeling like a foolish twenty year old confessing things he barely understood.

Reiss lifted her head until their noses bounced into each other. Those vast green fields that never faded due to winter's touch danced across his face. Curling him to her, she whispered, "I love you too, Mordock the destroyer senior." Before he could laugh, she kissed him.


	5. Made in Love

_15 weeks along..._

 

Lana steadied her steps, instantly drawing the attention of the woman beside her. It was a simple matter, her cane sliding into a divot in the floor, but... "Leliana," she breathed, rearranging the tie in her curls and casting an eye to the side, "you look as if you're about to catch me in a swan dive."

"That would be impressive," her old friend breathed in a chuckle before shaking it off. She'd abandoned the costume of the Divine, but the office never fully left her. While her visit was under the delusion that the chantry cared greatly about the backwater ministrations for their old templars, most saw through it. Leliana's trips into the wilds of the Hinterlands grew less and less over the years, leaving Lana to come to her. But, given her current state, traveling was out of the question.

"How are you feeling?" Leliana asked, switching tactics.

"Exhausted," they paced back and forth through the second floor overlooking the courtyard, Lana needing to walk and her friend following her. It was harder for ears to overhear if they kept moving. "I thought I was tired before, but now..." she gestured towards her midsection where an obvious bulge rounded out her robes. All of her dresses were far too tight now, a fact that seemed to occur overnight. One day she was normal, and the next her waist vanished and a balloon set up shop under her ribcage.

"Should I tell you you're beautiful to calm your nerves?" Leliana said, her bright blue eyes always sparkling with a whisper of mischief.

"No," Lana admitted, "I feel bloated like a ten day old corpse with feet that have already swollen beyond my slippers, but my ego remains more or less in tact. I've been consulting with a few others on what to expect but none could prepare me for how alien my body would feel to myself. Three decades in this skin and I had no concept it was capable of this!"

Leliana chuckled at her whining, the 'virginal' Divine shaking her bright red hair by afternoon light.

"Do not laugh at this, or you'll find yourself in the same boat. The Maker's cruel like that."

"That would be a true miracle," the Divine mused. "Though I wonder how the Grand Clerics would react to the voice of Andraste requiring her robes to be let out."

She mimicked her stomach expanding, but that wasn't Lana's current problem. A rounded gut she anticipated, but this... "That's far from my greater concern." Holding up her hands, she cupped those nourishing breasts that went from politely straining against her collar to all but ripping it off. "I had no Maker given idea that these things could grow so large. As if my back weren't killing me before."

Leliana's eyes darted down to the breasts that were now inside a door a good foot before Lana was. She coughed a moment, then said, "It must be a delight for Cullen, at least." Lana merely rolled her eyes. "How is he dealing with this?"

"He's being cautious, as he always acts when uncertain about things. Which means he won't let me in on how he really feels out of fear of disappointing me. I don't know, I think he fears the same as I do. There's a great chance that the taint's already passed to this child and...and even if it survives to the birthing process, it could," Lana sagged against the banister wall, the cold of the stone biting into her hip.

"Lanny," Leliana rubbed her arm up and down, concern marring that still porcelain visage.

Screwing her eyes up, she confessed, "I'm afraid of it dying in my arms. Of growing so attached that my heart breaks from so much hope dashed in an instant." Lana shook her head, trying to wick away the tears before the Spymaster noticed. "I have no idea what will come of this and it's...unnerving."

"It's a baby, your baby, made in love," Leliana, the romantic, said.

Love and also some complicated rope play, if Lana could guess the time of conception right. People tended to get all sentimental and weepy over the idea of a baby while conveniently forgetting the parts that went into making one. Being raised in the tower where sex carried little shame, it was a bit strange for her to try to delve into others experiences with birth. The language was far more flowery than the woman searching for concrete examples hoped for.

Lana started upon finding her palm swooped over her bulging abdomen. She was doing that often when a thought trailed off from her, as if on instinct. Shaking off her dreamy mind, Lana cut back with, "Love can't cure the taint. If it did Antiva would never have suffered under a blight."

That caused her friend to chuckle, "Quite. I dare say Zevran could have prevented ten or twelve outbreaks all on his own."

"How is he?" Lana glanced over, happy to turn the focus back on her friend.

"Why in Andraste's Grace would I know?" she feigned confusion, but Lana knew her too well.

"Because word is a certain dashing blonde elf was seen zipping in and out of Val Royeaux far more than seemed necessary. And always at night."

Leliana gruffed, her calm mask slipping, "There are plenty of things I can do with an assassin."

"Indeed," Lana agreed, "On top, below, from behind." As a hint of a blush ripened the ice white cheeks of the Divine, Lana nudged into her with her shoulder, "Are you certain you won't have to concern yourself with letting your robes out?"

"Yes, that matter is kept well in hand, thank you." She raced to change the subject quickly, "I imagine we won't be seeing you nor the Commander in society for sometime."

"Highly unlikely. He's been given a handy excuse to avoid it all and I'd prefer to not have to resign myself to chasing after a toddler through Celene's palaces," Lana chuckled at the image, then froze. Curling a hand tight to her stomach, she sighed, "There I go again, thinking this will all work out. That I'll somehow have a child of my own."

"Perhaps you will. After all, you're the luckiest woman I've ever known. Married to the luckiest man as well. How many thedas shattering catastrophes have you two walked away from?"

Lana glanced over the courtyard watching as her daily life shuffled on without her. She'd had to cut back more and more on work as the exhaustion of creating a new person took its toll on her already depleted body. Yes, both she and Cullen emerged from the heat of war but neither did it unscathed. It was hard to guess what an effect that would have upon her, or him, if the child even did survive.

"Lanny," Leliana circled her hand along her shoulders, cushioning her in a comforting hug. "What's truly getting to you? The baby, I understand, but I get the feeling there's more being buried below all that."

Spinning her fingers, blue flame erupted off the four tips pinched together. "I'm a mage."

"You're concerned the baby would be as well?" Leliana summarized.

"It's a good possibility. There's no magic in Cullen's line, though it never takes much. But that's not it." Lana shook off the spell and began to ease her way along the battlements. It felt good for her to move, as little as she could some days. Her legs felt wobbly and her hips like soggy pasta if she remained seated for too long.

"In the Circle, any mage that found herself in my same predicament had two options: flee and pray you get far enough before the templars track you down to birth your child, or know it would be taken from you the moment it emerged. It's foolish, I know the Circles are gone, but I am surrounded by many templars. Some fears don't easily fade," she folded in on herself, clinging tighter to this part of her and him she both feared and wanted to keep.

"Is that the part you're being 'cautious' about with Cullen?" Leliana asked.

It drove so quickly to the heart, Lana gasped, staring at her friend. "We don't talk about the Circles, the past. It...being on the opposite sides before doesn't help now. I'm not certain if I could even explain it."

She felt a fool every time it gripped tight to her. At first Lana was more or less indifferent to the life squatting inside of her. It caused some harm, smells in particular driving her up the wall, but was forgettable at times too. Then her stomach popped out; the baby going from an intellectual curiosity to a real possibility. She hadn't even considered what the templars surrounding them would think until every eye noticed the bulge under her robes. Would someone say something? Do something? They'd all been polite and respectful about her pretending to not be a mage, but many knew.

Maker's breath, it was stupid.

This isn't a Circle.

"You want it, don't you?" Leliana whispered, her sweet voice invading Lana's thoughts.

Softly she bobbed her head. "I do. I never imagined children, never wondered what kind of a mother I'd be because...all my life it was never going to happen, and now..." Lana's eyes trailed down to find her husband digging a pitchfork deep into the straw to try and freshen the horse's beds. A single baby goat was giving him pains, leaping about on its fresh legs like they were made of springs and bleating. Her husband looked annoyed beyond measure, an obvious flush to his forehead and cheeks from the exertion. But when the kid leaped onto the pile, Cullen -- her powerful and sometimes terrifying templar -- bent over and scratched the baby's floppy ears.

"You should tell him," Leliana said, "that you're excited. Be excited, enjoy this gift from the Maker. I know all children are called that, but in this case I'd say it was sent special delivery by Andraste herself."

Nodding at her friend, Lana returned to staring at her husband. He tried shooing the goat away, who bleated once more, kicked up its heels and then dashed to its mother's side. Barely shaking his head at the reunion, Cullen returned to the grueling work he'd been forced to pick up the slack on. Everything was going to change, one way or another. Perhaps it was time to embrace that fact.

With a hand securing her stomach, Lana nodded, "I think you're right."

 

* * *

 

 

A pot of 'we cleaned out the larder and called it surprise soup' bubbled over the hearth. Lana tried to not watch too closely as their cook occasionally fussed with it before returning to her book. It was less the not wanting to be caught hovering over her shoulder that drew Lana's attention away and more that she recognized the cover. The woman was engrossed in the erotic tales of the Hero of Ferelden as this mythical woman seemed to bed and fight everything across thedas. Funny enough, the description of her sounded more like Hawke if her cousin had red hair, pale skin and wasn't helplessly devoted to an abomination.

Placing down her knife, Lana turned from her plate of greens to catch her husband sliding into the kitchen. Cullen wiped the back of his hand off against his forehead and smiled, "Hello, love." Leaning towards her, he pecked a quick kiss to her cheek, a flush rising through Lana's body that had little to do with the fire.

After scooping up a chunk of bread, Cullen eased one leg over the bench and sat staring at the profile of his wife. "I'm surprised to see you here alone," he mused, chewing into what was most likely his afternoon meal. He'd been working himself to the bone trying to get the abbey back to life post spring thaw. It didn't pass Lana's notice that he was also taking up her slack.

Pawing back the hair that escaped out of her knot, she sighed, "Leliana had some _minor business_ to conduct in private in her room."

"Minor?" Cullen mouthed. "How many countries will the Exalted March be tearing through?"

She chuckled at his summation, the old friend that Lana knew always with her fingers on the pulse of terrifying matters, and no doubt her blade guiding many more. It was overwhelming to think upon, and she'd finished off a blight.

Cullen ripped off a piece of the bread, about to put it to his lips, when suddenly he paused and off the cuff said, "What do you think of Tabitha?"

Blinking madly, Lana tried to think through the stacks of letters she'd been poring over. She was going to have to train someone in potions before she grew too fat to reach over the counter. The college of magi wasn't ecstatic about sending anyone to a templar refuge, which left her sifting through various hamlet brewers that could probably be trained and if they were well watched.

"I'm not sure who that is," Lana admitted, fearing that she'd grown too aloof to remember the names of all their staff.

"No," Cullen smiled, "as a name." He drew his hand gently down her arm until cupping her fingers. "For the baby."

A bright smile broke upon her cheeks, Lana turning in her seat to stare deep into his eyes. He was clearly trying to play the taciturn Commander, stoic to all, but there was an impishness darting his cheeks into an easy smile. While Lana bandied back and forth between trepidation and outright fear, she had no idea how Cullen would deal with all of this. He had been both helpful and also distant, as if he was trying to assist in a matter beyond his job. There'd be the hand caressing against her back as she battled another round of morning, afternoon, and occasional evening sickness. He'd been the one to collect and carry a good dozen and a half books Lana on some wild whim ordered from the four corners of thedas. He did it all without offering up a complaint, but also never a note of joy, or excitement. She feared she'd pulled him into a mess he didn't wish for.

And now...

Curling her palm to his scruffy cheek, she smiled, "It's not bad as far as names go, though there's a good chance everyone would call her Tabby."

He sneered at that, Cullen doing his own part to battle against hated nicknames. "I hadn't considered that. Hm..." Those amber eyes darted downward in thought, but nothing could dampen the smile flirting with his lips. "Elena? I always liked that one."

Forgoing the distance, Lana slid across the bench into his straddling lap. At first he blinked, his eyes wandering over to the chef who was too enraptured with her book to care. Then, as no one seemed to appear out of the walls to chastise them, he cuddled one arm around her shoulders. Slowly, the other hand crept against her bulging stomach. He seemed in awe for a moment, his lips hanging slack while watching his fingers slide back and forth over the reminder Lana was quickly filling with a baby.

She drew her fingers over the back of his, pressing him tighter to her and what they created. Lost in her, Cullen placed his lips to her forehead in a soft pucker.

"Why only girl names?" Lana asked, shaking off the urge to slumber in his arms. It was barely past midday and work yet remained. Twisting her head back to stare into his eyes, she continued, "There's a good chance it could be a boy."

"Perhaps," he mused, the scruff of his chin scratching against her forehead as they pressed tighter together, "but I'd rather have a girl. The world needs more of you." A glimmer reflected in his eyes, which he was quick to blink away before focusing down upon her.

Lana scooped her hand along his cheek and sighed, "You're rather amazing too. A little version of you strutting around ordering armies of tin soldiers to march would be adorable."

A soft chuckle reverberated up through his glistening throat, her husband sighing. "You say that now, but the next time I am in one of my 'head butting moods...'"

"I still find them adorable, infuriating, but adorable," she admitted.

"That's good to know," Cullen whispered in his gravelly come hither voice. Curling her chin back, he placed a kiss sweeter than the meadow grass to her lips. Lana's hands pulled him tighter, her ever expanding breasts pressing against his chest. Her fingers trailed through his tight curls, softly tugging them back. The move caused Cullen to break away, a roll to his eye, but a pant in his breath. "That seems unwise," he chuckled, well aware of her signature plays to get him into bed.

Lana shrugged, "It's not as if I can become more pregnant."

"Maker's breath, I pray not," he gasped. "You'd eat us out of house and home."

"Arse," she chuckled, playfully slugging him in the shoulder but sliding back to give them breathing room. He was right. There was the Divine herself less than a few doors away. Refusing a meeting with her most Holy because you're too busy being carnal seemed like a most certain way to send yourself to the void.

Cullen drew a finger down her jaw, his eyes misty, "I love you."

"I know. I love you too," she smiled at him. There was so much in their future left up in the air, but knowing he was by her side made it feel survivable. Lana stared down at her half eaten pile of 'wholesome vegetables all expectant mothers must consume once a week.' She hated them with a passion, but her husband was reading the same books as she and he could cling to the advice with a death grip.

"I suppose I should finish this off," Lana groaned, stirring the mess. Maybe if she added some bacon grease. That might help to force it down.

He patted her thigh and then swung up off the bench. "And I have a roof to get to. Oh, I was weighing various cradle designs. Did you have your heart set on anything in particular?"

A cradle for their baby. Somewhere to let him or her sleep for the night. Such a little thing, one of many that they'd need to prepare, but the very fact he'd thought of it, began preparations without her asking, struck deep to Lana's heart. Grateful tears burst from her eyes. Cullen paused a moment looking stricken, then he spotted the smile on her lips. Gently, he wicked each up with his fingers, growing used to her emotions spinning on a copper.

"I have no idea," Lana blubbered.

"Well, you'll have some time to think on it. It's my first attempt so I'll probably need a few re-starts," he whispered, placing a goodbye kiss to her lips. Snagging a second hunk of bread off the tray, her husband slid to the door.

"Cullen," she called, turning to him. Those beautiful amber eyes smiled at her. "Are you happy about all of this?"

"Yes," he nodded, fingers cupping the bread to his stomach. "What about you?"

Lana smiled, "I am."


	6. The Queen's Deal

_19 weeks..._

 

Reiss stared out the palatial windows alone. She'd been attending a meeting of all the guard captains across Denerim, a meeting it took her nearly a year to squeeze into. It was a way for her group to catch up on the latest buzz drifting through the streets, see where the murders were stacking up, and if any remarkable brigands had stepped through the city gates. At first the City Watch tolerated her existing, but as the Solvers kept butting noses into the Watch's fumbling business it was either let her in or keep being one step behind. None of them wanted to fess up to the King that it was the unofficial band of near-on vigilantes that kept solving all the crime in Denerim.

The rest had adjourned for the day, not much being decided, but enough information passed to keep her busy for a few weeks. With the summer heat bearing down across Ferelden, the city was quiet. Most crimes were committed in cool cellars or near the frost zones mages in the city established. It made them easy to catch as the watch were all sitting there too.

She tipped back her hat to watch a familiar flash of crimson as the royal guards marched through the palace gates. Either the King was returning or they were growing bored in the guardroom and all went on a walk together. Funny how that could have nearly been her life.

Sweat dribbled down Reiss' shoulder blades, the heat finding its way through the cold stones of the palace. Taking a quick glance behind her to make certain none of the gossiping watch remained, Reiss began to slither out of her coat. Wearing it to the meetings by the height of summer made some sense. It was her signature outfit, to the point most people talked to it and not the elf inside. But it also happened to be billowy enough to camouflage the protrusion that had once been her flat stomach.

Straight on, no one could tell. Even Reiss had troubles spotting a difference, but if she turned to the side... She'd been spending a lot of time carrying boxes and bags once this thing popped out to say hello. It was foolish. She was going to have to tell them all eventually and probably not while the kid's head was crowning.

But that was months away. Right now she was far more concerned with talk of a smuggling ring re-massing in the dwarven district. Surprising as they'd be butting up right next to the coaterie. Either they were working with the dwarves or she'd wind up having to protect the smugglers from a dozen battleaxes to the back. That was Denerim, things never stopped for a moment.

A flash of halberds wafting in the breeze caught her eye, and sure enough, the royal cavalcade trotted up the main gate. Perched upon a white and tan horse was the blonde head whipping back and forth as he kept waving to the few guards who were doing their best to not respond.

"Oh Alistair," she whispered to herself, her hand absently curling over her stomach.

"So the rumors are true."

Reiss whipped around, quickly draping the coat over her stomach, but it was too late. Her skin paled at the woman in a fine silk dress standing beside the conference table. "My Queen," she said in deference before bowing. Unfortunately, that caused her stomach to bulge out even more, ruining her one deniability that Reiss simply had a large breakfast that day.

Beatrice tapped her fingers together against a pearl belt circling her stomach. Her very thin and empty stomach. "I'd heard whispers that the King's known lover was rounding with child, but had waved it off as simple gossip mongering."

Reiss rarely talked to the woman married to Alistair. There was the occasional sentence or two regarding how swell a day it was, or if her children had done anything adorable recently, but they kept it civil. It wasn't as if Beatrice didn't have her own bed warmer. But this was a different woman entirely. Where before she'd shown a cautious warmth, now it was ice cold, her thoughts on the burgeoning matter crystal clear. Those sharp eyes cut like emeralds as the Queen glared at her subject that was also growing with a royal child.

"I..." Reiss glanced around as if somehow rescue would arrive. Alistair knew she'd be waiting for him, but he couldn't have anticipated that his wife would swoop in like this. He'd often describe the Queen as an overcooked pile of noodles rolled up in a wet blanket. Maker, he was lucky he'd never had to suffer this frozen anger before.

"Speak up," Beatrice commanded, her soft chin jutting out like the monarch she was.

"I thought you'd already been informed by Ali...by his Majesty," Reiss stuttered. A fresh kind of sweat percolated off her forehead, freezing her tongue.

"I see," Beatrice folded her arms tighter. On the plus side, at least she didn't suddenly draw a dagger and stab at Reiss' stomach. Maker, could she disarm a Queen without being tried for treason? "He has had many mistresses over the years." If that was meant to hurt Reiss, it missed the mark. She was regularly writing to his first love, after all. "And none of them ever fell into the family way."

Reiss blinked madly, trying to find any way out of this. Throwing her coat over the Queen's head and making a break for the door seemed the most logical choice at this point. Perhaps screaming something incoherent, dashing out the window, and climbing towards the roof?

"It is a curious question, so many years, so many...others, and it is your womb that finally takes," Beatrice snarled. She wasn't even pretending at the lie that the princess and prince were of the King's blood. She knew Reiss knew the truth. Alistair was sterile -- at least for a time -- as far as she was aware, and now...

The Queen stared down at Reiss with the same disgusted eye she'd felt in the refugee camps. Kirkwall guards and templars often scanned the area for hiding apostates or criminals, never caring there were real people suffering. They were just looking for their piece of flesh. Something snapped inside Reiss, and the animal backed into a corner hissed, "This child is the King's."

"You seem certain of that fact," Beatrice mocked.

Reiss gripped tighter to her stomach, and with a snarl to her lip said, "So is he."

That scattered the Queen. No doubt she'd been working up her plan to talk Reiss into admitting who she'd opened her legs to because it couldn't be the King. Not to get rid of the mistress, Beatrice cared nothing for that, but to secure her line of technical bastards. Reiss knew the truth as well, and how to strike back with it should the need arise.

"Hello, gorgeous," Alistair's sunny greeting whipped both women to him. He gulped at Beatrice's face and began to tug up his hair. "And, uh, you too, Bea. I see you were both having a little meet and greet alone... together?" He must have read the concern on Reiss' face as he dashed quickly into the room, bravely placing himself between them.

Beatrice's eyes slid over Reiss before she focused fully upon the King. "We were discussing the weather."

"It sure is hot out, but that's summer for you," Alistair quipped.

"Feels rather icy in here," Reiss muttered under her breath.

The Queen lifted her head, the elaborate headpiece of hers rattling the beaded pearls and jewels as she did. "If you will excuse me, I shall leave you to speak upon matters of the state." Reiss didn't breathe a sigh as the woman shifted to the door, she knew there was more coming. "Will you be visiting with your children later, my husband?"

There it was. Bea always called him 'My King' or 'Your Majesty.' She was grinding it into Reiss' face that as far as the chantry cared, the Queen and Alistair were married in the sight of the Maker. Of course the remark sailed straight over Alistair's head. He shrugged his shoulders and squinted his eyes, "Don't I always? Spud's finally gotten onto the good adventure books and Cailan's big into that duck taking a holiday. Boring, but not as disturbing as the 'Pat the Nug' one. Ugh, books shouldn't have skin in them."

Beatrice tipped her head in deference to him, but a smirk glittered in her eyes as if she'd won something. As far as Reiss knew, she'd never even agreed to the game much less lost. Though, she didn't take a proper breath or unlace her fists until the door closed behind the Queen. Alistair himself watched before turning to her.

"What in the Maker's name was that?"

"Nothing," Reiss spat out, needing to think and plan.

"Nothing?" he gasped, his hands clinging to her arms. "You look as if you're about to leap up off your heels and bite someone's throat out. Which, okay, is kinda hot, but not really the time or place."

She shook her head, snarling, "Why in the void did you not tell the Queen that I'm..." her voice died down to whisper the word, "pregnant?"

"Because she never asked?" Alistair threw out leaving Reiss to imagine biting his throat out. "Okay, that was a joke. I thought you didn't want to tell people."

"Yes, _my_ people in _my_ guardhouse. I don't need them fussing when they should be focused on the job right now. But this is different. For Andraste's sake, I've already told my brother and...sent a letter to my sister."

Reiss' raw anger faded at that, her eyes drifting down to the floor. Lorace took the news about as well as she expected. 'Ha, got yourself stuck up the pipe, eh?' It didn't sting seeing as how he'd done the same to his girlfriend, necessitating an overnight marriage lest her religious employers fire her on the spot. But Atisha, no one could bring the shame like her sister turned Sister, especially now that she was working in the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux. That was the hardest letter Reiss had to write.

Hands cupped up and down her arms, drawing her attention back to him. Alistair's eyes brimmed in sympathy, "Still haven't heard back from her?"

"Three weeks," Reiss sighed, "and nothing. I...knowing Atisha, she's probably lighting a candle every day for me and praying extra hard I'll cease my harlot ways." She meant to laugh at it, and normally would with Lunet, but after the Queen's daintily laced threats it stung harder.

"Reiss," he butted his forehead to hers, the heat of the ride passing through to hers, "it'll be okay. We are married."

She rolled her eyes at that. Married in the sense that they stood beside two other people and whispered their own made up vows. In the proper sense of documentation and the chantry being involved, that wedding was as illegitimate as the child swishing back and forth in her womb.

Alistair yanked off her hat, and she expected him to put it on his head, but he draped it onto the back of a chair and instead curled his hands through her messy hair. "I love you," he whispered.

"That doesn't fix everything," she grumbled back even while falling under his spell. How did he do that? Wrap his arms around her, make a few wisecracks and somehow it all felt better; convince her anything was possible.

Reiss' eyes darted down to her stomach. It was only going to get worse, the rumors growing to knowing nods and more. Closing her eyes, she said, "You have to tell the Queen."

"I, uh," he cupped his hands around under her stomach making the bulge even more pronounced, "I think she's figured it out."

"Not that," she grabbed onto his hands but didn't bat them away. Reiss needed them wrapped around her back, she needed him to hold her tight. "Tell her that nothing's changed between you two and your deal."

"Why would she even think that?" Alistair seemed lost.

Gripping onto his stupid face, she tipped it down to her and sighed, "Maker's breath, sometimes you are so dense, but I love you anyway." Rising up, she kissed him with the ache that somedays seemed to engulf her entire being. They saw each other a bit more often now, Alistair wanting to be as involved as the one without an extra passenger squatting inside his body could be. But it wasn't enough for her.

He moaned at her machinations, and Reiss was surprised to find her fingers tugging hard against his hair. This wasn't right, she was on duty and... Those impish brown eyes opened and every argument she had against performing what got her into this situation in the first place died. "Reiss?" he whispered, her set of rules somehow breaking through the rampaging lust between them.

Shaking her head, she gripped onto his hand and whispered, "Take me upstairs."

He glanced over at her coat and hat, both perched upon the chair, then nuzzled his face to her neck. "With pleasure," he cried, tugging her with him to their old bedroom.

 

* * *

 

 

"I spotted another one," Alistair crowed. He wiggled fully out from under his half thrown blanket and slid to place his face tight to the side of her hip. Reiss followed along, bending over as far as she could to watch his fingers trace against her naked skin.

"Wonderful," she muttered while he revealed a fresh set of stretch marks gaining ground along her hips. Over twenty something years they'd remained practically flat as a boy's, but she gets up the duff and suddenly they start thinking of putting on an expansion.

Smoothly, Alistair's palms followed the swoops and swirls of her skin racing to keep up with her bulging body. He seemed to find it all fascinating, and she, for whatever reason, found his reaction charming. "Are you going to make a map of them?" she snickered, trying to tug him back up to her. The afternoon sun beat down through the window, crashing his room in a bright glare that they rarely managed when seeing each other in the all together.

It was a bit disconcerting for Reiss, realizing her lover hadn't fully seen the changes to her body in a month. Then she tugged off the breast band, and all her trepidation vanished at the gobsmacked look to his cheeks. She hadn't had him play with her breasts so much since they first got together.

Abandoning his quest to try and read the future out of her stretchmarks, Alistair climbed up to slot in beside her on the bed. She lay stretched out on her back, those fascinating hips aching if she was on her side too long. Absently, his palm curled up her stomach, swooping through the glistening skin before resuming to cup a swelling breasts.

"I might have known," Reiss sighed, but snuggled her cheek to his neck.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, his bright eyes shining as if he found a new toy.

"No," she admitted, "it feels good. It's nice to have good things happening to this meat sack for once instead of terrifying horrors."

His first two fingers knocked up against her nipple before threading it between the third. "I happen to find your meat sack enchanting," Alistair breathed. Leaning over her, he kissed her with a hunger they'd tried to quench earlier. The humming resumed in her throat, Reiss pinning his cheek in place while tasting the summer heat off his skin and hidden deep in his mouth.

She shifted on the bed, crawling upwards to press her advantage on him, when a rumbling began in her stomach. Breaking contact, Reiss quickly placed her hand to her flesh and felt what she was expecting.

"Reiss? Are you...?"

"Here," she grabbed his fingers off her breast and placed them tight. "The baby's kicking."

It took a few more beats, Alistair staring through space as if it would be difficult to feel them, when suddenly she felt a strong wallop from building muscles. "Whoa!" the King of Ferelden gasped at this common miracle. A giant grin stretched his lips and he placed his cheek against her stomach.

"Hello in there. Are you trying to register a complaint because your mum and dad are keeping you up late?"

Reiss fluffed his hair back and forth while watching him talk to her stomach as if the baby was not only an adult but could respond.

"You should know normal people sleep during the night, unless they're very important or very bored. Or mabari. Then you can sleep whenever you want. How are the accommodations? Good, I imagine." Another kick answered him. "Needs improvement?" Alistair joked back. "Yup, that's Theirin blood in there."

Laughing, he rolled his eyes to gaze right into Reiss. He looked serene with his face perched upon the growing stomach of an elven lover while their child walloped his cheek. "This one's got quite the temper it seems," she groaned at the internal tenderizing.

"Can't imagine where it gets that from," Alistair rolled his eyes before pressing a kiss to her stomach. "Is this the first time you've felt it?"

"No," she smiled, "the obvious kicking began a few days back." Reiss meant it light hearted, but a quietness fell over Alistair dampening down his smile.

"A few days..." he repeated.

"There'd been internal flutters before, but I couldn't feel them through my hand," she raced to explain.

Slowly he sat up, but he kept a palm cupped to the baby still registering complaints the only way it could. "I should have probably brought this up earlier, but...I've been thinking that," Alistair flinched a moment, then stared down at his hand. "Maybe it would be in your best interest, in both of your best interests, if you spend the first year here in the palace."

"What?" Reiss sat up fast, her stomach slipping away from his grasp. "You can't be serious. A month after the birth in the chance there's something...off, we agreed to, but this..." She bunched up her fist, wishing she wasn't fully naked for this conversation.

"Reiss, everything goes so fast in that first year. The baby's first smile, first laugh, first time it says mama or daddy," his warm eyes watered as an age seemed to wrap around the man who'd been down this road twice before. "I don't want to miss out on so much of those firsts because you're both down in the city."

She hadn't thought of that. For good or ill, Alistair was not an absentee father. He wanted to be there for all of it, loved sharing in the horror stories and changing the messy nappies. It gave him a strangely joyful purpose. But a year...

"This goes against our arrangement," she said. They'd worked together because his life was in the palace and hers was her agency. She wasn't reliant upon him which meant every kiss was hers to give freely, no strings attached.

Alistair scoffed and waved a hand through the room, "Haven't we already broken that? You're here on duty, but you wanted to come to my room. Were whispering incredibly naughty things in my ear to drive me mad on the walk up."

"It was a momentary..." she stuttered, stung at how right he was. They'd been getting sloppier about it, their lives commingling more with each passing year. Sometimes her ache won out over her conscience. "I can't leave my business for a year."

"You wouldn't be leaving them," Alistair sighed, having had the time to put in more thought and counter all her arguments. "You'd just be staying here, in the castle. Maker's sake, babies are a ton of work."

"I know that! I've read some of the books you gave me," Reiss said. "I have a plan."

"Reiss," he cupped his palm to her flushed cheek, "it's not weak to need help, not with this. Crying at all hours, feedings like mad, you'll be exhausted. You'll need breaks. Breaks which I and the various staff and others here can help with. Even washing filthy nappies is a continual drudge. Do you really think Lunet will try and deal with a colicky baby at 3 in the morning?"

"She'd probably try putting it in a pot and sending it down the river first," Reiss admitted to herself. She should be fighting his argument at every turn, but she had nothing in her arsenal. There was only the clinging fear that she had to fight or lose something of herself.

"Just...think about it, okay. I want to see my child, I want to see _you_ every chance I can. Being up here will make it easier for all of that, for you, for the baby to get to know its siblings."

Reiss' eyes darted up at him with that, shock in her face. "You're going to let our child be a part of the princess' and prince's lives?"

"Of course," he chuckled, "they're all my children. Okay, ignoring the technical bit at play here."

"I'd..." For some reason she assumed that their child would be kept a secret. Not a very good one, but certainly never allowed proper time with anyone important in court. That it'd be a whisper trailing its pram down the street as the King's bastard and nothing more. Spending time with the other children was important, and she didn't have the backing of an alienage looking out for its own behind her.

"What happens after the year is up?" Reiss asked, needing conformation.

Alistair snickered, "So that's a yes?"

"It's an I need more information," she said tight lipped.

"We'll see what you want, what the baby wants. And it's not as if you can't check in on the agency and keep running things. Denerim's not about to close its gates to you. It's just you'd be sleeping here with me close by. With help ready to take over if you need it."

Maker take her, but that idea did sound wonderful. To not have to wake early, cram breakfast in, and beat feet down the back alleys to beat the morning muggings. Nor to tousle him out of her tiny bed when she knew there were dignitaries waiting for him at the palace. Alistair was the worst riser she'd ever met.

"Reiss?" he pried, his arms wrapping around her shoulders and tugging her into a side hug.

"I will," she gave into the cuddle, his lips pressing against her neck, "consider it."

"That's all I ask," Alistair said. "Now, how about I connect your birthmarks into a constellation and have the astronomers make it official?" He giggled at his idea, already parting his fingers down her back to find a favorite mole before walking them forward around her hip.

She watched with peace in her soul as the man she loved snuggled and worshiped her body. It would make him happy if they were both under his roof, and blessed Andraste, it would make her happy to watch him with his child. What was a year?


	7. Securing the Line

Fingers wrapped tighter around his neck, causing Alistair to drop his daughter's hand and reach back around to catch Cailan before he either hit the ground or strangled his father. Spud spun on her glittery pink heels to glare at him breaking contact. A fist plowed into her hip, a move she'd been picking up from somewhere, as she waggled a finger at him.

"Daddy, you have to hold on," the six year old chastised like a hardened advisor to a wayward King.

"I know, Spudkins," he said, "but your little toad of a brother is about to kill me." A giggle erupted behind his ear, the toad happy to be included in this story.

"No, Daddy! The griffins will. Hold my hand!" she was adamant he return to her protection. At one point Spud had a wooden sword to guard her father from the dreaded griffin attacks sweeping the pony meadow, but then she tried to hit her brother with it and that was the end of that. Alistair put a pin in getting her sword lessons and fast. Bea was against it, as were a dozen others who felt the future Queen shouldn't be waving metal around, but either his daughter would learn proper sword technique and rules or she'd wind up smacking out someone's teeth on accident.

"Daddy, daddy," she insisted, tugging on his shirt.

"Okay," he picked up her tiny hand in his. Spud was quick to wrap her fingers around his thumb, finding the ring fascinating. She wanted to wear it because her father said she couldn't take it off him. It wasn't anything special, he merely feared she'd put it down and then it'd go right into Cailan's mouth. The kid was worse than a mabari when it came to things going in his mouth. Of course, telling her no only drew Spud's curiosity stronger. Maker save whoever had to tell their future Queen something she couldn't do.

With her wayward father finally secure, Spud swiped back her long curls with her free hand and glared around the hallway as if monsters were really lurking down it. "What do you see?" Alistair asked, peering down at his daughter. Those bright emerald eyes were honed to a scary focus for her age. Cailan, unaware of the lurking danger in his own home, giggled and bounced up and down on his father's back.

"There's big ones here," Spud whispered, her voice drawn to an edge and nearly dampening out the small lisp she had.

Alistair whipped his head around as if he was trying to spot them. "Griffins? Where?"

"Not griffins," she turned to him in exasperation at the obvious, looking eerily like Eamon when he had to explain politics. "Dar'spawn. Don't worry, Daddy. I'll protect you." Waving her hand as if there was still a sword in it, Spud stabbed at the imaginary darkspawn hiding in the hallway. Mid-invisible mutilation, a servant prodded her head out of a door catching the three of them in peril. Alistair smiled and waved her away. He was fairly certain he'd survive this attack unscathed, unless Spud was back to her dying stage again. Then only the tears of a unicorn could save them.

"Ooh, ah, good one," she kept up a fairly accurate simulacrum of fight dialogue, though Alistair remembered a lot more cursing and some 'uh, is that one dead yet?' during real combat. Spud was fully into her role, her eyes glinting, when she threw back her head and cried, "For the Gwey Wawdens!"

It was so unexpected Alistair forgot to be charmed by the adorableness as she jabbed her make believe sword into some invisible enemy. Spud cackled in delight as Alistair asked, "Did you kill it?"

"I did. I'm a twue Gwey Wawden," she asserted before miming returning her sword back into its scabbard.

"Oh no," Alistair glanced up at the ceiling. Spud followed suit as Cailan continued to crawl higher, his fingers reaching to snatch up the sewn on knots around Alistair's biceps. Before the kid could try and pull them free, Alistair snapped up and shouted, "The griffins are returning!"

He began to slowly run down the hallway dragging Spud with. She got into it, her eyes trailing around the ceiling as she mimed slipping back a helmet's guard to watch. "Oh no!" she repeated before following him headlong through the door and straight into their nursery. Tucking down, Alistair belly flopped onto the cushioned rug, dragging his little girl with.

Maker it felt good to be stationary, which lasted all of two seconds before Cailan began to scramble off of him. "I Grey Ward," he insisted, reaching for one of a dozen stuffed animals scattered around the room. Alistair felt Spud begin to rise up from their fall, indignant at Cailan once again trying to hustle in on her territory, but he was ready for it. Lashing over with a hand, he pulled Spud in tight and trapped her below him.

"Daddy!" she squealed when the tickling began.

"What was that?" he asked before tickling her harder. On his knees, Spud could easily slide out from under his pathetic cage but she kept rolling back and forth on her back.

"Da-a-ddy," she tried again, before breaking into more laughs.

"Still not getting that," he said. Tiny hands plopped onto the back of his head and he glanced up to find Cailan patting his skull as he tried to get into the game. Snorting, Alistair butted his head against the kid's stomach eliciting boyish giggles.

Spud must have sensed them as she sat stock still and ordered, "No. This is vewy serious."

Sighing, Alistair flipped over to his side to let her out. "Everything with you is very serious. You're gonna get an ulcer from how serious you are," he said prodding at her belly. She laughed a moment at his silly words, then folded her arms in a tight cross, the pout rising.

"Spuddy," he warned even while scooping Cailan into his lap.

She looked like she wanted to order her brother out of the room. If it was up to her, she'd probably stick him on a ship to Tevinter, but she knew whining would only get her put in the naughty chair. Her eyes glanced over to the dreaded lime green thing in the corner, and she dropped her chin. "I want to draw," she announced, turning away towards the desk stuffed with quills, vellum, and what had once been important memos for the King. If there were any classified state secrets they were long obliterated by child scribbling.

Alistair wrapped his arms around Cailan while the boy fiddled with a wooden puzzle box in his lap. "What are you going to draw?" he asked.

"It's a secret," Spud held up a finger to her mouth and then blew hard enough spit splattered against her father's cheek.

"Thanks, Spuddy," he groaned, wiping it off. Unaware of causing any offense, she returned to the monumental task of uncorking the ink bottle. They'd devised a sort of trough to try and catch most of the runoff from a princess who was very into drawing and less into cleanliness. If she weren't destined to be Queen, he'd have put good odds at his daughter becoming a painter...who killed darkspawn on the side.

Sounds of footsteps drew Spud's attention, splattering ink into the trough. "Mummy!" she squealed, her plan fully abandoned as she raced to throw her arms around Bea. The Queen dipped an arm down to cuddle Spud to her legs. Wanting to see his mother as well, Cailan squirmed out of Alistair's lap. For her boy, Beatrice fell to her knees, wrapping both of her children in hugs and kisses to their cheeks.

"Have you been good today?"

"Yes 'em!" Spud shouted while Cailan nodded his head vehemently. Still, the knowing mother turned to look over at the only adult in the room.

"They were," Alistair said. "We had a minor meltdown as what happens when it's nearly noon and starvation sets in. But I'd say you were both on your second best behavior."

Beatrice's eyes stared through him, nary a word slipping from her lips but volumes hung in the look. Self consciously Alistair tugged up his hair and stared at the border along the nursery's walls. Her voice slipped down to honey sweet as she looked at her children, "Why don't you two play quietly in here? Your father and I have matters to discuss."

 _Ah, shit._ He almost hoped for Spud to argue that she had to spend time with him, but his most trustworthy daughter shrugged, "'kay," and returned to her drawing. Cailan nodded his head, crawling hands and feet around the room like the mabari pups they visited earlier. Very aware of how much trouble he was in, Alistair staggered to limp legs and tried to hide away the blush.

It wasn't that he meant to keep putting off the talk, he simply didn't want to have it. And making certain Reiss was far away from the palace when he did seemed important too. Still...time to be an adult. Dropping a hand to Beatrice, she stared in surprise before taking it and letting him help her up.

"Where do you want to do this?" he asked.

"This way," she commanded, turning towards her chambers.

"Bye Daddy," Spud called out, those traitorous eyes not even glancing up once.

"Bye!" Cailan echoed, his dirty fingers waving through the air.

Trying to not imagine he was walking to his death, Alistair trailed behind Beatrice into her abode. She paused, her gloved hands pinned tight to her stomach as she glanced over at the handmaidens doing very little handing or maidening. Alistair was never certain what the full point of them was beyond filling a room and dresses. "Could you excuse us, Ladies?" Beatrice said in her sweet asking voice with just enough of a razor in it to be an order.

The women both exchanged a quick look before rising from their various lute and weaving strings to slide to the door while bowing to her Majesty. Alistair stuck a thumb out and laughed, "You have to teach me how to do that. I ask any of the various men trying to stuff my boots on to shoo and they sigh before knotting the laces."

Beatrice was unmoved by his quip, which wasn't too surprising. She never laughed at anything he said. After raising her neck even higher, the beleaguered Queen spun on her heels and said, "Talk."

"Right here?" Alistair glanced around the room. For a moment he thought the rug might be new, but catching Bea's eye he realized it wasn't worth mentioning. "Okay, so...Reiss is pregnant."

The Queen narrowed her eyes at that.

"Uh, due probably around Satinalia," he continued to give out what little information he had. Aside from she's going to have a baby and when, Alistair didn't have a lot.

Beatrice tipped her head to the side, "So soon? She's barely showing to be nearly five months along."

"Maybe it's an elf thing," Alistair shrugged. His experience with pregnant women was getting Reiss knocked up and then every time there after with her. It was a small sample to pool data from.

Once again his wife fell into a deathly silence, those sharp eyes trailing him as he began to pace like a caged animal. Maker, was this what she did to keep her ladies in waiting in line? Aware of the sweat dripping down his back, Alistair sputtered out, "I assume you have some questions..."

"How?" Beatrice asked.

The urge to launch into the birds and the bees withered on his tongue at her glare. "Well, turns out that potion I took to try and beat back the taint had some...unexpected consequences. We hadn't been doing anything to protect ourselves because there hadn't been much reason to and then, oops!"

The Queen's glower sliced him into various consecutive chunks, each one scattered onto her new rug for dissection later. "It was an accident?" she didn't seem to entirely believe him.

"Pretty much," he admitted, lost as to why this was such an issue for her. She was the one who all but encouraged him to go fully in with a lover and would even on occasion ask about his 'elven mistress toiling away in the slums.'

"When you told me of your little...pseudo-marriage ceremony I considered it a lark. You want to play having a normal life, you're far from the first noble to do it. Who was I to judge? But then to pull this stunt..." Beatrice shook her head, raw anger snorting out of her little nose.

"Stunt? It's a baby, not someone jumping a horse over a canyon."

"Do you expect me to believe after all this time, all these years, all the other women you'd taken to your bed only to have nothing emerge, this is when it finally sticks? You have your pretty little elf wife, though I use the term wife very loosely, now to make the family."

Alistair drew his tongue across his teeth, feeling a snarl in his gut as Beatrice danced around an assumption that if she voiced would set him off. "We weren't planning on it."

"People will talk," she said.

"People always talk, and if they don't have anything good to talk about, they make shit up. It's what people do."

Beatrice blinked at his shocking logic. He'd been aware of the whispers for years, most of the citizens coming to accept he slipped in and out of the agency down by the alienage. It was a funny story and good to pass around the fire, but in the end as there were no great arguments bellowed on the streets, it grew boring for them. People only cared when their own lives were too dull or diminutive to focus on. In time, the knowledge of his having a...another child out there would fade.

"How can you be certain this baby is in fact yours?" she voiced the question that'd been sitting on her tongue. Maker, if she'd said the same to Reiss...

Folding his arms, Alistair glared down at the floor out of fear staring at her would set him off. "Easy, I'm not the only one who took the potion and wound up in this situation." Beatrice gasped as her little house of cards shattered. She'd obviously been expecting him to pin his assurances on trust. "Maybe on top of clearing out the taint it makes us extra fertile, I don't know. I'll put the question to my mysterious benefactor." No doubt Lanny was already hard at work figuring that out if only to keep her preoccupied. She didn't seem to be having as great a time with this pregnancy thing.

"Then..." Beatrice sagged, seeming to finally accept that yes, he made a child with Reiss. "You will have one," she stuttered.

"Yeah, hopefully, I mean. Don't want to jinx it or anything."

"A true child of Theirin blood," she whispered seeming to fade deeper into herself.

Alistair scrunched his face up, "What? Sorta, but..."

The shock seemed to wear in an instant, the hawk-like stare winnowing down upon him. "What shall become of my children? Of me?"

Alistair blinked in surprise, his eyes darting around the room to see if there was someone hiding behind the curtains to leap out and shout this was all a prank. "Uh, you'd continue on as before. I mean, I figure the kids will play with the baby. Have to watch 'em, Cailan's a bit young and Spud gets excited easily, but...the baby will grow or be swaddled in padding."

Beatrice snorted at that, her tiny feet clipping back and forth across the rug, "You expect me to believe that? This will be your child, a child of your blood. Not some...other forced into your house under the guise of maintaining the line."

"Look," Alistair slapped his hand into his palm, sick and tired of having to explain this, "I'm not going to turn my back on Spud, or my little radish. She'll be Queen, she'll lead Ferelden once I'm ash and Cailan will, I don't know, do her maths or something. That kid's hard to pin down. Nothing's changed."

He expected that to soothe over Beatrice's worries, but when she slid up beside him with a tenderness in her eyes framed by fluttering lashes, Alistair reared back at how good it worked. "Perhaps..." she drew her gloved hand up his crossed arm and Alistair's tongue ran dry. No, she couldn't possibly be...

Her lidded eyes opened with a spark, "If you are truly free of the blight in its many forms, then it may be time for me to perform my wifely duty."

"What?" Alistair threw his hands up, staggering back from the woman all but pressing her body to his. "No! Are you insane? What about Cordell?"

"He's aware of our arrangement," she purred as if talk of contracts and negotiations was a turn on. Catching on that seducing him was going nowhere, she slapped her exhausted hand into her thigh and groaned, "Was I not chosen specifically to give you a child to continue the line of Calenhad?"

"Pretty sure you were chosen to sit around being liked by everyone while I mucked things up," Alistair admitted. He wasn't stupid, but he played it well in the throne room. "Maker's sake, Bea, you cannot be serious. You do not want to sleep with me."

"It..." she started, her lip jutting out, "it can't be that bad, given your history."

"Not sure if that's a compliment or an insult," he admitted. Beatrice groaned, aware she was losing this fight fast and Alistair felt a moment of pity for the woman trying to ransack his family jewels. "Look," he picked up her hand and patted it, "I get that this whole baby thing threw everyone for a curve. Maker, and here I thought I was nearly done with nappies. But I won't make another with you for the sake of appearances."

"Why?"

"One, I'm not going to hurt Reiss like that." Which it would, big time. "And two, you nearly died with Cailan. Even if, Maker protect me for entertaining this, Reiss gave her blessing. Which, trust me, no. And she's got a kick like...anyway. Bea, you don't need to risk your life, not when there are two kids already yelling and screaming in this world that need you."

She stared at his fingers locked around hers as he comforted her like an elderly aunt. "What about those children?" she asked. "Do you expect me to believe that once you have a child, a baby truly of your own, from a woman you love, that you will not turn from them?"

"Those children meaning the ones I just spent the day with while one stuffed grass down my pants and the other insisted I fling her through the air until I nearly dislocated my arm? The ones I cover in kisses and hugs until they ask me to stop because it's too slobbery?" Alistair slapped his hands to his knees in shock at her assumption. "I want to check you mean those that are my world and not some other children no one's told me about. Because, I don't think a little baby is going to up and erase six years of loving my kids."

Beatrice stuck her chin out and looked so startling much like Spud as she tried to protect her Daddy. "There are many men who have left their families after far more years of being together for fresher pastures."

"Maybe," Alistair said, "but those ones don't know what it's like to grow up without a mother or father. I'm not ignoring any of my children be they bastard by marriage, or bastard by blood."

Her eyes narrowed at his cold summation, but it was true -- technically Spud and Cailan's mother and father weren't married. It was a family of bastards all the way down. Folding her arms tight to her chest, Beatrice cooled as she glared at the floor. Maker's breath, they'd been married...far too long for him to remember, and he had no idea she had this bone shattering tenacity. It was like trying to play chess with a broodmother.

"Am I to take it on faith that you will not remove me from the palace or my position?"

Blinking a few times, Alistair tried to play back where this was coming from. "Wait, you think I'm going to run down to the Grand Cleric, demand a divorce, and then stick Reiss in your place?" She didn't answer, but the frost thickened at her glare.

"Maker's bloody anal polyps," he groaned, Beatrice scowling at the visceral curse, "you've been doing this politics shit far longer than me. How long do you think the Bannorn would accept an elf as Queen? Cause I'd put it at my head being cut clean off between the 'I' and 'do.'"

"You love her," Beatrice breathed, her eyes shut tight.

Since when did she give a nug's fart in winter about who had his heart? She knew about all the other mistresses before, would often speak to them at court civilly and not in that passive aggressive 'oh, aren't you darling while I poison your cake' way.Just how bad had this baby spooked her?

Alistair reached out to grip onto his wife's arm, pity swirling in his gut, "And you love Cordell."

"That's up for debate," Beatrice admitted, knocking Alistair for a loop. He'd been noticing a wane in the Brother wandering around the castle, but it wasn't that surprising. It wasn't that often he'd cross the Queen's path much less her ex-tonsured lover. "You are lucky with her," Beatrice said, "there are not many who can stand remaining in the shadow."

"Bea, I had no idea," he said, feeling a fool.

"It would be impolite to inform the King of such matters," she didn't cry. Alistair realized he'd never actually seen his wife shed a tear, the patrician mask always slotting into place to hide any great emotion.

"Has he fully gone?" he asked, getting a slow nod followed by a shrug. It was impossible to keep continual track of someone unless you had their phylactery. "What about the kids? Surely he wouldn't abandon them..."

"There were promises made, but some of them have already been broken. I do not anticipate him to visit much, if at all," she stared through the air, her fingers flexing tight to her stomach.

"That stuff-shirted, proselytizing son of a bitch," Alistair snarled. Cordell wasn't the best at playing father to the kids, but he'd been in their lives. They were going to notice and wonder where he went. Perhaps even blame themselves. "I should send out a search party of well armed knights and drag him back..."

"Stop," Beatrice commanded, her eyes slicing through him and squelching his anger. "That will solve nothing beyond exacerbating the issue. You cannot force someone to be a parent."

"I dunno, I think if I leave a few of the royal guards alone with him and a tray full of pliers," Alistair half joked, tipping his head to the side.

"Not every man can embrace the idea of another raising his children," Beatrice whispered.

It took the bastard damn near long enough to decide that. Maybe it was the fact he didn't get instant riches and titles for being the secret lover of the Queen. Cordell was a wet fart stuffed inside a cassock, about as interesting as over-salted oatmeal that crusted to the table. No one in their right mind would happily give someone like that power unless it was afforded to him by birth.

And the second the real father skips town to try and find himself, Alistair goes and creates the miracle baby with the woman he loves. No wonder Beatrice transformed into a snarling mountain lion in an expensive dress. Feeling sheepish, he stepped away from his wife and sighed.

"I'll get in contact with the official bursars, and notaries, and clerks, and what not to declare our daughter the defacto future Queen of Ferelden. I should probably put that in my will too, just to make certain. That way, even if rumors swirl about the validity of who the throne passes to, I declared my choice. Can't go back on that. We can have a big party where everyone wears their shiniest tiara."

"You'd do that?" Beatrice stuttered, seeming to be in surprise as if they hadn't been grooming Spud to sit in the chair for six years.

Alistair shrugged, "It was never going to be anyone else. Maker's sake, the way you people keep flooding me in potential matches for my six year old daughter, as if that's not creepy. I'm not suffering meeting various Arl's and Bann's sticky palmed sons just to have the throne fall to another."

"What of Cailan?"

"He'd be considered second in line. In the event the Queen can't perform her duties, blah blah blah. Not sure if it's wise to go pinning Regent or Commander of the armies on him until he's fully mastered that we pull down our pants before peeing. Karelle will know, and I'm certain Eamon will throw his two cents in. Man retired a year ago and somehow he's still involved in everything."

Beatrice seemed to be soothed finally from her fears, her coifed head bobbing in acceptance of the promise. No doubt she was already planning the very important ritualistic parties that went along with such a thing. As long as there was cake, Alistair would put up with it. "Thank you," she said solemnly.

"You know I love them. That hasn't changed, it's not going to change. If I didn't stop loving them when Spud splattered paint across my shields or Cailan ripped up a dozen missives from Bann Cedric...actually, I should thank him for that one. Bea, I'm not going anywhere. I kinda can't, people notice that goofy face in the royal painting squatting at the bar beside them and call for the guards."

They shook once more, Alistair making the mental note to try and track down Karelle. He had yet to tell her about Reiss' impending move into the palace for awhile. Getting to gussy up a drafty old room into a nursery sounded like something right up the Chamberlain's alley. It could be a bonus from him.

He turned to the door to the kid's room, planning on giving them both goodbye hugs, when Beatrice spoke, "What of your child with Reiss? What shall it do in the future?"

His fingers drifted over the handle, Alistair sighing, "Whatever he or she wants. I'm going to give the baby the one thing I always wanted, freedom to never ever have to get anywhere near the throne."


	8. One Day

_25 weeks..._

 

A crate landed outside the tiny storeroom's door, the sound tugging Lana's attention away from what she'd already been sorting through. "Don't tell me it's another one," she groaned to Melissa. The herbalist and also washerwoman shrugged her shoulder before cracking open the top with the crowbar. Lana scooted away from the box full of nappies she'd been going through to inspect the newest one.

Her fingers extracted a pair of tiny yellow knit booties with fuzzy ducks on the top and she tried to not sigh in agony. Of course it was baby stuff, that was all her life was anymore. Shaking off the annoyance, Lana smiled at the woman who brought it to her employer, "Thank you."

"My pleasure," she smiled, sliding out of the room that used to hold their excess mattresses and other linens. Now Lana was doing her best to clear it out for the baby. She also had to find a magical storage answer to somehow stack all these things babies apparently required inside little more than a glorified closet.

Melissa tried to close the door behind her, but it stuck open thanks to far too many boxes in such a tiny space. _Maker's sake_ , Lana groaned to herself. In trying to tug the box closer to her, her barely strapped in chest bounced into a shelf that once held her potion bottles. Emptied of anything breakable weeks ago, all that her breasts scattered to the ground were piles of mittens and gloves of varying hues. Seemed everyone was gravely concerned about the idea of a baby being born in early winter.

Cursing under her breath, Lana scurried back and bent over in an attempt to pick up the scattered cold wear, when her stomach flat out stopped her. Fingers hovering a good foot over the floor, she groaned and dipped to her knees. Just as she almost got a grip on them, the door opened.

"Blessed Andraste," Lana sighed, "please don't tell me it's anymore mittens, or socks, or tiny hats to wrap around the baby's head. We're completely out of room." Her near on panic faded as she glanced up into amber eyes.

Cullen smiled at her and using his greater reach managed to pluck the mittens up off the ground and then hold her elbow. Carefully steadying her, he helped Lana back to her feet. "I was about to ask how it's going," he said, returning the cursed mittens to the shelf, before placing a quick kiss to her cheek, "but I can see the answer."

Situating her stomach as best she could, Lana glared at the crates remaining to be unpacked before she could get off her cruel feet. "Look at all this," she groaned. "You'd think we were about to have triplets at the amount of clothing and other paraphernalia people sent us. In this box it's the old clothes from Teagan's little boy. Lots of pajamas, a damn near full rainbow of options, a few blankets, a handful of pants, and one tunic with a griffin on it."

"Sounds practical," Cullen said, eyeing it up.

"And over here, Mia's old clothes from her girls. A few dresses, more blankets, two skirts, one that's extra frilly, and these..." Lana snatched up a wad of what she'd first thought were lost garter belts to help sneak in daggers hidden under petticoats. "What are the bloody point of these?"

After picking a small blue one out of her fingers, Cullen stretched it and shrugged, "I don't know what it is."

"Headbands, which you put on the baby, as I learned after talking to one of the women. So people know you've got a girl, I guess."

"Seems as if it'd be quite a bit of work to put on a baby, or get it to stay on," Cullen began to stretch it to its limits, much as Lana had while trying to figure the things out.

"Oh, but we're not done yet. Courtesy of Leliana and the Divine, we have a christening gown made out of real silk and lace that will most likely be puked and then shat on. An honest to the Maker teeny tiny ballgown as well as a doublet in gold to match should a fancy dress party break out three months postpartum. And, of course, ruby encrusted shoes for the baby. The baby that won't be capable of walking."

Lana plopped the ruby slippers into Cullen's hands. His eyes opened wide while twisting them around, the soles of the shoes half the size of his palms. "They are rather adorable," he said diplomatically. That was all he'd been lately. Lana would complain about her body shifting and popping like some demon was trying to prod through her skin and he'd smile, rub her shoulders, and say 'it'd be okay.' She didn't want to be calmed down, she wanted to rant and rave.

"Wait, we're not done yet, because here's a box from the Seeker Cassandra. Not as large, thank the Maker, but..." Lana lifted up a tiny scrap of metal bent slightly inward with a teeny leather strap inside.

"Is that a shield?" Cullen shifted it back and forth, the shield slightly larger than the Divine's baby shoes. Sure enough, there was a symbol of the chantry painted on the outside to take on any micro-darkspawn. "Was that all?"

"Of course not, what's a shield without a tiny sword?" Lana extended the glorified letter opener that came with its own leather scabbard. How in the Maker's name the Seeker found anyone balmy enough to make weaponry for a baby she'd never comprehend. "There are also a few pink blankets with white hearts on them, so it's not a total loss."

Cullen returned the baby shield and sword to the box and scooped an arm around Lana's shoulders. As he tried to massage away the knots popping like mushrooms after a rainstorm, he asked, "I'm guessing that's not it."

"I haven't even gotten to Hawke's gifts," she rolled her eyes to him.

"Do I wish to ask?"

"Furs. Many, many furs," Lana screwed up her eyes, trying to keep calm.

"Fur blankets would..."

"No, not blankets. I'm pretty sure there's a fur nappy in there, somehow. Sweet Maker, I love our friends but I think they're going to kill me," she groaned. Deep down inside, Lana knew she shouldn't complain about their generosity. It kept her from having to attempt to sew baby clothes, and the ones who'd had children before did send useful articles, but... For the love of Andraste, where was she supposed to put all this?

Cullen stepped over the box of newest who-knew-what, and swept his arms fully around her. Exhausted, Lana draped her head to his chest and buried herself into his eternal embrace. Clearly at a loss for words, he merely curled his fingers through Lana's hair which was its own disaster. She hadn't had time to oil it in what felt like forever, half of it nothing but frizz.

Mumbling, she draped both her arms over his neck and cuddled deeper in. "I'm so tired of being pregnant," she groaned. "My body runs into everything now. If it's low, the stomach will sweep it like a rogue going for your legs, and if it's here..." she gestured to her chest, "no chance. I can't even walk into my potion room anymore without facing a floor littered with broken glass."

Cullen pressed his lips to her forehead, still not speaking as she kept ranting about her good misfortune. "I miss being free to walk around to the grotto. I miss being able to bend over to pick the herbs in the grotto. I really miss not having to pee every hour."

"It'll be over soon enough," he whispered to her skin.

"Fifteen weeks, give or take," she sighed. "That's nearly four months. How in the Maker's name did I get this huge this fast?" Lana's hands drifted across Cullen's shoulders, measuring his great stature. "You. It's all your doing. This is what I get for falling in love with you."

"Me?"

"You're gigantic!" she laughed, "compared to teeny, tiny me. And if this kid's anything like you then it's gonna come out six feet tall."

Cullen chuckled at her misfortune, "I don't think that's going to happen."

"Right, just you wait. I'm gonna have giant feet kicking into my brain before the end." Sure enough, another round of baby announcing to the world it existed and was rather unhappy with its cramped quarters erupted.

She reeled in her ranting tongue and slowly draped her hand down under her robes to feel the kicks beating up against her thinner tunic. Cullen watched, his cautious eyes surveying to see where it would be safe to cross. "Is there nothing about this you enjoy?"

"No," she gasped, tears prickling in her eyes at the hurt in his voice. Wrapping up his fingers, she pulled them in between her robe and tunic so he could feel his baby as well. "This is amazing, though maybe not at three in the morning," she tacked on, causing Cullen to roll his eyes.

He began to slide his hand away, but Lana held it tighter in place. "It's not that I don't cherish the idea of growing this piece of us inside of me," she whispered. "Maybe it's cheesy to think it's our love made real, but..." Lana felt a blush rising at the thought she'd never have the nerve to say to anyone else.

His weary eyes rolled down to her, an apology sitting in there. "Lana," Cullen brushed his cheek against hers, the scruff biting the acne that popped up overnight courtesy of her womb squatter. "I..." he glanced down, perturbations clinging to his tongue. They were both exhausted, both on pins and needles, and both scared to upset the other. This situation was both theirs and no one's fault which made it maddening during the bad days. Cullen sighed, "I suppose I shouldn't make this all about me."

"Honey eyes," she murmured, tugging him down to her for a kiss. "I want the baby, I really do. I want your baby, I just..." Sighing, Lana pinched the top of her nose and groaned, "I'm tired. I want one day when I don't have to think about it. Don't have to sort through hordes of baby things. Don't have to prep the potions room on overtime in preparation of my giving birth. Don't have to lose you for hours to work and the wood shop while you craft a cradle. For one day I, I want to forget I'm pregnant, and be me again."

Her head tipped down, her eyes drifting across the gifts she didn't deserve. "Maker's breath, I sound like a spoiled brat."

"No," Cullen cupped his hand to her chin, the other one breaking from her belly to curl around her back, "you don't." Placing a second kiss to her lips, Lana tried to find succor and also energy in his embrace. He was her panacea through this.

"I think you deserve a day," Cullen said, his forehead brushing against hers.

"Don't be silly. It's just whinging from me. We have far too much to do here," Lana shook it away, well aware she wasn't going to be able to escape her belly no matter how hard she tried.

But those amber eyes glinted with a dangerous plan taking root. "I'll need a few days to prep, but I think I can arrange something."

"Really?" It didn't need to be the opera, or even a fancy dinner, just somewhere without templars, or binkies, or books full of graphic drawings of what was happening to her insides. "What are you thinking?"

"Nope," Cullen planted a kiss to her nose and began to sidle over the box, "that will ruin the surprise. I best leave you to organizing all of this, while I...attend to things."

"You can't be serious," she called as her husband slid out the door with a smile on his lips. "I'm terrible at surprises!"


	9. The Beginning

"Where are we?"

She could hear the sound of water sloshing, which wasn't too surprising as Lana knew they were on a boat. Cullen helped to get her seated upon it partially due to her distended stomach and mostly because of the blindfold. Then he took up the oar and began to tug them across the river or lake. It wasn't a matter of what she was sitting in but the question of where the boat was.

"Wait and see," he chuckled, a strain in his voice as he grunted and the oars crested above the water before making another splash.

"Is it a river?"

"Maker's breath," he sighed at her tenacity. She'd been guessing for days, Lana allowed to keep her vision until they drew near on a carriage. It'd been the talk of the abbey when what looked like a fancy royal one rolled up. Lana expected Ali to come tumbling out with some newest problem, but there was no one inside, only the driver who passed the reins to her husband.

For a few days they traveled the countryside, going far slower than was necessary while Lana sat perched up beside Cullen in the driver's seat. If she grew exhausted or needed a nap, there was the cab, but snuggling tight to her husband was a far more enjoyable way to pass through the summer forest. Every question of where they were going was met with a pursed lip and refusal. It went from being a small game to Lana desperately needing an answer.

The boat was a bit of surprise. Perhaps he was trying to throw her off in her guesses. They'd been traveling north, and there weren't a lot of rivers to the north. There was the Waking Sea, but it didn't stink of fish and salt, nor was there a very good reason for them to head so far away from Ferelden. That only left...

"Is this a lake?" Lana asked, "Lake Calenhad?"

"By all that is holy," Cullen groaned, "sit there and turn off your brain for a moment. We'll be arriving shortly so try to act surprised."

So it was Lake Calenhad. Were they heading into Redcliffe? Lana shifted in her seat. While she'd aged quite a bit since her last visit to the village, and her figure now was more or less four balls stacked on top of each other, there was a good chance she could be recognized. Surely Cullen knew that.

Trying to shake off the fear, Lana sat up higher in the boat when her body lurched forward. "We've arrived," Cullen announced, as if she couldn't feel the prow ramming into a dock. It took a few minutes for her landlocked husband to tie up the boat through its eyelets. Once it was all secure, he helped to guide Lana up onto the dock. She had to shuffle her feet, bending with the tilt of aging boards.

"Can I take off the blindfold?"

"No," he sighed, "just...a little more." Cullen slipped her cane into her fingers and then guided her arm to lock around his. "This way." Stepping slowly, and no doubt watching the ground like a hawk, her husband led Lana down this last path. She felt the wooden slats of the dock fade away to sandy grit and then gravel.

"Okay," he dropped her hand and then tugged off the blindfold.

Lana blinked against the low summer sun, white spots taking shape from the darkness, and then noticed she stood in a tall shadow. Staring up and up, her hand flew to her mouth in shock. "Kinloch?" she gasped. "But I..." she turned back to her husband who was knotting the blindfold around his hands like a garrote while he glared at what had once been their home.

"Cullen," she curled her fingers around his, calming the twitch in his jaw.

"You wanted a day where you didn't have to think about being pregnant and I. I don't know, I just couldn't stop thinking about the old tower. Our old tower," he explained.

Kinloch. She hadn't returned in ages, not since before the rebellion. Even then, Lana rarely dropped in once she joined the wardens. Perhaps a small part of her was worried that when it came time to depart, the templars would once again bar the doors to her. It loomed above them, birds circling through no doubt tiny holes in the roof made gargantuan with no one left to maintain them.

"Should we head inside to look around?" Cullen whispered, his voice fading lower. She turned back to him and spotted a familiar blush as if that eighteen year old, uncertain Knight-Recruit returned.

"Lets," Lana smiled, snatching up his hand and guiding it around her waist. The awkwardness faded from him and her husband/about-to-become-a-father placed a kiss to her forehead. It took little work to open the front door, the old locks long since shattered. What struck her first was the silence. The tower was never silent; mages gossiping, templar armor clanking, spells misfiring. It was a near on constant noise of life every second of which she'd known since the age of six, and now...

"I feel like I'm walking into a tomb," Lana whispered. The white marble was filthy -- time, bandits, and bored children scarring what had once been cleaned by the Tranquil.

Cullen clung tighter to her body while the other hand drifted towards his hip. "It's very quiet," he mused.

Spinning on her heel, Lana was startled to find no one standing beside the great doors. She gasped a moment and then laughed at her foolishness. Cullen stared a question and she explained, "I was surprised there wasn't anyone guarding the exit. It feels empty without a templar or two standing there."

"Mostly bored out of their skulls trying to count holes in the ceiling," he mused to himself, but the twitch had returned to his jaw.

"Cullen," she whispered, sliding closer to him, "if you don't want to be here..." It was sweet of him to plan something but not if it hurt.

He blanched a moment, then shook it off, his fingers falling limply to his sides. "No, I..." A sweet smile replaced the grit and he picked up Lana's hand, gently tugging her through the old doors into the place proper. "I wanted to come back to where it all began."

They passed a staircase covered in debris but surprisingly not buckled by time. Lana began to move past it, when Cullen suddenly stopped and glanced back. "I remember," he said, then began to pull her towards it. She eyed up the mess of stairs that looked like it'd be a death trap for her even if she wasn't so front heavy now. Chuckling, Cullen swooped his pregnant wife up into his arms and began to carefully ease up the stairs.

Lana pressed her hands tight against the back of his neck, her cane dangling off her fingers, as she giggled, "Bet you never thought you'd have to carry me up these things."

"Have to?" he chuckled once before the rarely seen mischievous amber rolled down to her. Perhaps something about returning to where he'd grown up, in many different ways, was bringing back the young adult from before. Lana felt it too. She remembered these stairs. After she'd been in the tower for a few years, the kids learned how to make static charge balls and in a bit of brilliance tried to roll them down these stairs. It went pretty well until the balls had to discharge against the wall, leaving a small burn mark.

Certain she was secure in Cullen's arms, Lana let her fingers reach to trail along the stone walls. Maker's breath, it felt familiar. Kinloch was made out of a stone not common to most Ferelden castles, being more porous than others. It was a wonder a good rain didn't knock it over, but somehow this place endured for centuries. She felt every divot in the rock, the kids making up stories that they were carved there specifically by old apprentices that were trying to warn them about what evil horrors lurked in the undercroft. Only no one could understand the code and every year another apprentice was eaten by the hideous monster.

At the top of the staircase, Cullen placed her feet down to the ground and let her get her bearings before he dashed over to stand where the bookcases had. They were obliterated beyond imagination, most of the wood having been chopped apart for fires and the tomes held in them either left to rot on the floor or torn apart for kindling. So much of her life was spent pressed between those cases, her nose buried in books while trying to find her purpose.

"Right here," Cullen stopped, an excitement clinging to his bright eyes.

Lana blinked her eyes and tried to shake away the pain of seeing her childhood home in ruins. "Right here what?"

"This is where you were standing when I first saw you," he announced, his arms waving around as if he'd performed a magic trick.

"The library," Lana chuckled. "Why am I not surprised?"

"I was there, in the stairwell, and you..." Cullen whipped his head back and forth from her to make certain he had the angles right. "You were carrying a stack of books." She sighed at that, remaining unsurprised. "And were arguing with that mage."

"Margie?"

"No, the other one," he shook his head.

"Oh, Jowan," that sounded right too, sadly. It was a wonder they were ever friends for how much they fought, or how he used her.

She didn't mean to frown but the thoughts of the man that betrayed her took her into a dark turn. Catching on, Cullen scooted away from this mythical spot to cup her fingers in his. "I was in a dour mood at the time," he confessed, "trying to break away from some celebration or other, and then you... Maker's breath, you stole my heart away in an instant."

A blush burned against her cheeks while the man gazed down upon her as if she was all of fresh faced 17 again instead of a hardened warrior broken and battered, and also swollen from wrist to ankle. Cullen cupped his fingers against her face, softly pushing back the mounds of curls. "There were quills inside here, and, Maker, how badly I wished to pluck one out. To run the feather over my fingers because...because it'd touched you."

"Cullen..." She was fully melting into the floor, her cheeks bright red in this adorable agony.

"Eighteen years old and I'd never seen anyone so beautiful in my life. I'd thought you were a messenger of Andraste herself, and never, in a hundred years, a thousand years, did I think I could do this." Curling his fingers against her soft jaw, he tipped her head back and placed a youthful kiss to her aching lips. All the exhaustion in her body, in her mind, the years that trailed them both like nightmares clinging to the waking brain, it all faded. Lana felt all of seventeen; that bookish, giggling apprentice who couldn't stop staring at the newest blonde templar blushing across the room.

The burn of being able to touch him, to taste him, drove her to wrap her free arm around the back of his neck. She devoured him, the ingénue fading to the experienced woman who wasn't shy to be with the man she loved. "Please," Lana panted as Cullen took a steadying breath, "tell me we're alone and there aren't about to be a dozen bandits bursting out from behind the barricaded bookcases?"

He staggered up to his full height, Lana cursing her love of tall men as those lips slipped too far away for her to bend them to her will. After playing with her curls, he smiled, "Do you really believe I would risk my pregnant wife anywhere near bandits?"

Shrugging, Lana answered, "Depended on how much fun you wanted me to have."

That earned her a chuckle, Cullen placing his lips to her forehead for a less lustful kiss. "How about after the baby is born? With me and Honor," he tacked on, no doubt fearing the second she was free of child, Lana would hop out of bed, snatch up her cane, and find the first bandit she could to fricassee.

"As you say," she sighed, "though it's been quite a few years since I used my spells for damage purposes."

"The darkspawn under the lodge," Cullen said without a second thought.

"Oh right, but do darkspawn even..." she was going to lose this argument before even beginning it. While Lana wasn't without her own defenses and skill, she couldn't exactly blame Cullen for worrying about her now. Running headlong into battle was something she'd have to leave to others unless there was really no other option.

Curling deeper into his arms, Lana buried her cheek to his strong chest. How many nights did it have to help carry her to bed? How many more did she lean against it either while fighting through the darkness or panting from joy? A smile wafted through her stomach bringing up an old memory. Snagging onto his fingers, Lana leaned back and said, "Come on."

"Where are we going now?" Cullen asked. Perturbations drifted in his tone, as if he feared she was about to stomp off to find bandits or darkspawn to slaughter.

"It's my turn," she didn't explain. Trailing across the library and back downstairs, they came out in one of the grander openings. It was an all purpose room, often the sight of apprentices learning how to throw greater area effect spells, the occasional mass meetings if there were many famous mages visiting, or a place for bored children to run around. Lana stopped and turned with her arms extended.

Ringed by twelve giant pillars, it was hard for her to remember the exact one as they all bore the same look. There used to be tapestries denoting the various mage fraternities, as well as some for Ferelden and the chantry hanging upon the pillars but they were all either torn down or eaten by moths. Only a handful of brass bars remained, tipped against their nails.

"There," Lana declared, somewhat certain she was right.

"There what?" Cullen asked, stepping towards where she seemed to be pointing at little more than a smudge on the floor between two pillars.

"Two children were playing with a ball, a special treat no doubt for learning spells. They were kicking it as hard as they could from one end to the other, when one gives it all the force he can. It scatters through the air, bounces on the pillar above, whacks into the back of a man, and becomes trapped behind the templar," Lana traced the memory ball's trajectory before landing back upon Cullen who seemed confused.

"The templar snatches up the ball while the kids are knock-kneed terrified. He extends it, shaking it for them to pluck it free, his voice rattling in the tin, when suddenly he sighs. With one hand he yanks off the helmet to reveal..." she sighed, plowing her curled fist into her cheek as if she was seeing it all again, "this golden face. Golden curls, golden eyes, golden smile that dashed about young lips while you tried to hand the ball back to the kids."

The same smile flitted through her husband's lip, lifting the scar, "Oh. I...I don't remember that."

"It was the first time I saw you, your face without the helmet in the way. Margie caught me staring and, of course, I denied it. But, blessed Andraste, I was gobsmacked. You were so adorable swiping back your mess of curls," Lana staggered up to reach over and part through his, "and a blush to your cheeks as you watched the kids trail off to play."

Cullen slid his arms around her waist, his warm lips breathing against her forehead, "Is that so?"

"Not many apprentices knew I was enthralled with the newest Knight-Recruit but a few did. I wasn't so good at keeping from staring," Lana admitted. Not that it was easy for her, the templars rarely taking off their helmets. But she'd gotten a good sense of his routine and knew when to expect the need to take it off for a breath of fresh air.

"Well," her husband chuckled with a dusky voice, "you're free to look all you wish now."

"I suppose I am," she smiled, her fingers brushing against his scruff before clasping behind those curls she adored.

Lana began to tug him down for another kiss, when Cullen spoke, "I thought you said we met during the, um, bathing incident."

Rolling her eyes, she sighed, "That's when we met, this was when I first saw you. Now shut up and let me kiss you."

"As you wish," he murmured, returning her need to circle back the memory. At seventeen she knew two things, that she'd never been so enthralled with another man before, and that she'd never be able to act upon it. By nineteen Lana realized that there were other men in the world to catch her eye, but that first one was the one worth waiting for.

Ghosts of the past trailed her vision, and she could almost see the old sconces lit with mage flame, the shadow of robes filtering through the doorway, all while she made out with a templar. Giggling and fanning her cheeks at the impropriety, Lana slid away as if there was a real threat she'd be pulled in front of the First Enchanter. Maker, that would have been her undoing before, and now... She'd walked the world of the Fade for two years and killed an archdemon. What would that crush-struck seventeen year old have thought of her life?

Lana's hand circled over her stomach, the baby resting. No doubt it would resume its dancing once she intended to sleep. It wasn't perturbations or exhaustion she felt in her soul at the thought but a satiety. Here in the tower there'd been no hope, not for her to ever love a templar, much less to wed and then birth a child with him. And now...

Unaware of Lana's inner turn, Cullen glanced around the space and he smiled, "I remember this area well."

"There were a lot of meetings and the like held here," Lana said, almost waving it away.

But Cullen didn't seem to be considering that. He smiled a moment and shook his head. "No, I was thinking upon all those dances the apprentices held."

"Ah," she felt the blush rising up. Awkward to a nearly debilitating degree, she suspected they were ordered by the Senior Enchanters who wanted to punish all the gangly apprentices. Most grew up in the tower with the very people they were suddenly supposed to dance closely with. "Did you have to guard many of them?"

"A few." Cullen's hand slid up behind the small of her back and he whispered down to her, "And it was torture to see you standing alone beside the wall, wishing I could pull you into my arms."

Most of the apprentices were the same as her, clinging to the edges and hounding the punch bowl on the assumption that if they were too busy holding a glass they couldn't dance. Of course there were a few of the involved mages that would dance so close together the chantry sisters were praying for the Maker's intervention. Lana remembered Anders in particular would often flit from arm to arm, that cocky smile stuck to his face. He reveled in the moment, happy to have something to break up the monotony of study. But not her, she only went because it was required.

"Well," she spun to face her husband and wafted her fingers across his shoulder to lock behind his neck, "there's nothing stopping us from dancing now?"

"I suppose not," Cullen smiled, leading her into a slow shuffle. Their clasped hands extended out in proper form, but they certainly weren't leaving any room for Andraste's spirit between them. Her stomach was about the only blockade, and even then Cullen bent over enough to adjust, those amber eyes honed in on hers. It was a quick dance without music, and her husband only risked one spin before returning her to his safe arms.

As they both slowed to a crawl, accepting it was over, Lana skirted her fingers tighter to the back of his neck in order to tousle those curls. "That was the most fun I've ever had at a tower dance."

Sliding closer, Cullen placed his forehead next to hers. She breathed in slowly, anticipating him to kiss her, when his hand slipped off the small of her back to caress her ass and give it a gentle pinch. "Very much so," he chuckled, a gleam in his eye at the bold move.

"I love you," she murmured, her cheek returning to his chest where it belonged.

"I..." Cullen gulped, his eyes darting around the room. Could he see the same ghosts she did in her memory's eye? So much life spent in this tower and it was all gone in a breath. "I've loved you since I first saw you."

"Love at first sight?" she scoffed, "What if I'd turned out to be an idiot? Or had a terribly squeaky voice? Or smelled of moldy cheese?"

He chuckled at her insolence, the mage always less schmaltzy than the templar. "I thank Andraste every day you do not."

"My Harrowing was...a very dark day for me, but," Lana slid back and blinked into his shrouded eyes, "I think upon what you told me."

"What? You mean when I stammered outside the First Enchanter's office and then ran out of fear of you...no, out of fear of me having no idea of what came next but taking some steps towards it?"

Lana laughed, in truth having forgotten that part. She had had a very involved day. "No," her fingers ruffled down his shirt exposing a scrap of chest hair as she dipped lower to rest her palm against his flat stomach. "When you helped me out of the Harrowing chamber to my bed. I was stunned and incapable of much beyond mumbling. But you guided me into my bed and whispered 'The worst of it is over.'"

Cullen grimaced at that. "Maker, I forgot how truly naive I was."

"No, it..." she shook her head, "I know, given everything that happened after with Jowan, and the Grey Wardens, and Uldred it seemed a poor guess at the future, but it strangely helped. I carried your words through a lot of the Blight. A reminder that I wasn't formed from clay, I'd taken on something in my lifetime and survived, and I could do it again. It wound up being quite a few somethings, but..."

Her husband fell silent, his eyes staring into the floor. Lana let a beat or two pass before she curled her fingers with his. Shaking his head, Cullen spoke. "I never thought you thought of me, not just in that way but in anyway. It was foolish to consider, to weigh the attentions of a mage upon a templar but...Maker, I wanted you to."

"When you left with the Wardens," he drew his fingers around her jaw, cupping her face as if protecting it, "I was crestfallen, but it felt idiotic. As if I fell in love with a character in a story after the book ended. I wanted so badly to love you, but the idea of you loving in return was impossible."

Lana smiled at him, "You should know by now I'm rather famous for the impossible."

"Quite," he laughed once, tears of sincerity glistening in his eyes. Tugging her face to his, they shared in a kiss that began to grow in ferocity. Lana's heart thundered in her chest, craving his fingers to touch more of her skin than her cheek and hands. An idea popped into her head and she slid back.

"Where did the templars sleep?" she asked, clearly upending Cullen.

He seemed to still be lost in the throes then rapid un-throes of passion. "Hm...why?"

"Well, you all knew where we slept. I was just curious. All the apprentices used to take guesses what the templar dormitories looked like. The prevailing theory was that you each had a golden basin and a full sized bed with silk sheets to stretch out upon."

"Ha," Cullen barked once. "Perhaps for the Knight-Commander, but Knight-Lieutenants were left with little better than the mages."

"Really?" she placed a hand to her hip, not believing him. "Prove it."

Cullen blinked madly a moment, trying to reassess where this suddenly went. "All right, but there is a good chance it's been long since ransacked." Taking the lead, he guided Lana through one of the old doorways she'd never entered before. Sure enough there was a small staircase that led up to the third floor. It didn't connect with the other enchanter's bedrooms, somehow being cut off. No doubt to keep mages who didn't appreciate templar intervention from causing a ruckus with their unmentionables.

They passed first through what looked like a simple sitting room, benches stacked along the walls and a cold fireplace stewing in the back. Absently, Lana drew forth flame of the veil into it to light their way. "We'd pass some time here," Cullen explained.

"Card games, gossip, and the like?" she asked, having seen much the same with her own soldiers.

"There was more prayer involved, but yes, the like," he sighed, his shoulders seeming to rise in a knot. Lana reached out and caught his fingers in hers, squeezing tight. She was here with him, it would be all right.

Cullen nodded his thanks for it, then opened the door. Darkness and dust pervaded what felt a wide space, until Lana lit the sconces remaining screwed into the stone. "Maker's breath," he gasped, "it barely looks touched."

The beds were single, no having to deal with someone's errant foot drifting down near your face the way mages did, but the templar dormitories did look much the same. Beds sat close to each other with just enough space for a rug, perhaps to pray upon, a small chest, and a stand for armor. Cullen's eyes opened wide and he stared around the room. Almost as if on instinct his steps quieted, like he was often required to pad through there to keep from waking other templars.

"Where was your bed?" Lana asked, her fingers locking tighter to his.

It took a moment for her words to reach him, his free hand swiping dust off an old board that might have held duty rosters. "What? Oh, it was..." tugging her with, they zipped down a few lines of beds before coming to a stop beside a mattress set into a hard wood frame. There was no design to the frame beyond holding up a mattress, the bed achingly close to the floor. "This one," he said. Cullen glanced around and a sigh reverberated in his throat. "There were so many people here once."

"So you'd come here after a day of work?" Lana asked, drawing him from the darker past. He nodded as she touched the chest, "strip off your armor, say your prayers," she smiled at that, knowing all too well the ones he'd recite before bed. Cullen nodded along as her hand continued to crawl towards his lower back, "Then climb into bed and..."

"And...?" he tipped his head, at a loss.

Lana sidled up right before him, the cane abandoned to the chest as she hooked both her hands under the hem of his shirt. Nails sliding against his warm skin, she whispered, "And did your best to not-not think about me."

"Ah," he gasped, his eyes shooting open wide. "Well, um...there were a few times that, uh," his adams apple shot up higher, the middle aged man struggling through this facet of young life, "Merciful Andraste."

"All those years, all those dances, that little swim suit," Lana's eyes flickered up to his and she caught the blush she expected, "and you never once imagined what it'd be like if I came to you here?"

"Perhaps, sometimes," he struggled, his hand trying to knead all the awkwardness out through the back of his neck.

With barely any force, Lana pushed Cullen towards the bed. He obeyed her fingers but the confusion seemed to have fully taken over his brain. Backed against the bed, his knees bent, causing him to sit down hard on where he'd spent so many nights aching for her.

"Would I pad softly around a dozen slumbering templars, barely making a noise like a cat?" she asked. With a grip to his shoulders, Lana leaned her face close to those stricken lips. He seemed to be teetering on the edge of admitting to the memory, those honey eyes staring past her as he tried to cling to what was once proper.

"I don't," Cullen struggled before she dipped lower on her weary knees.

Warm breath caressed his ear, causing the man to shiver. "Slide up onto your bed wearing nothing but a robe, which I'd tug apart while your hands are free to...explore everything?"

Swallowing deep, he tipped his head up to hers and the guilt of how well she knew him vanished in a heartbeat. Cullen read the ache and, yes, mischief in her eyes. Before she could whisper the next part of the young templar's fantasy, he gripped onto her jaw with those strong fingers, tugging her to him for a wet kiss. Lips lapped over top each other, the married couple devouring each other as if they'd never attempted it before.

Freed of the bonds of propriety, Cullen's hand cupped along her spreading hips and wound towards the same ass cheek he'd pinched earlier. His palm kneaded tighter against her flesh as if he wished to pull all her clothes off in one go, but something was holding him back.

Breaking the kiss, Cullen's hazy eyes honed back in on her as he murmured, "You know me too well."

"Lay down," she ordered.

"Wh...Lana, why should I...?"

"The Knight-Lieutenant asks too many questions," she purred, shoving his shoulder backwards to the dusty mattress. There were no blankets to cushion or provide warmth, but what she had planned wouldn't require them. Cullen obeyed, his legs sliding up to tuck into what had once been his bed, but his hands lay limply to the sides. Concern and uncertainty were obvious to read in his face, but a hint of lust lingered. Was it the same he'd try to wipe away after spotting her fresh from the bath or running through the tower halls in little clothing during summer heats?

Her occupied body made it difficult, but Lana reached in under her robes and managed to tug down the only scrap of clothing to get in the way. Perched upon the bed, she was able to snatch her pale blue panties off her swollen ankle. Amber eyes watched as if in fear he'd have to tackle her to stop this encroaching madness. Cullen hadn't been this on edge since before their first time together in the deep roads.

"Hold these," she ordered, placing her underwear into his grasp. The man who regularly hung up their laundry stared at her unmentionables as if they were some holy relic he just accidentally stole out of the chantry. Wadded into his fist, only a hint of the blue lace poked out of the edge as Lana undid the knot to her robe. Alas, they fell open to reveal, instead of bare flesh, her traveling clothes -- a light sweater with a knee high skirt, but she could make it work.

Gulping, and clearly trying to hang on to sanity with the edge of his nails, Cullen's free hand cupped against her side. "Lana?" he whispered.

"Shh..." she said, her voice following to his low level, "we should be quiet." Slowly she traced her fingers down his chest, all but tasting the excitement rising in his face, until she cupped against the growing erection straining his trousers. Cullen gasped at her impetuous move and Lana placed a finger to her lips, shushing him again.

There wasn't much room to work with, so she only undid the belt and unclasped the front of his pants. Maker bless that man for never letting any knickers get in the way.

Freed of the indignity of clothing, Lana's palm gently swooped from the head of his cock downward. Despite her orders to keep silent, Cullen groaned, his eyes flying shut while his nails dug into her blue lace. A stuttering breath responded as he staggered up to stare at her. Decades faded from her mind: the wear, the miles, even the concept of her pregnant belly -- she stared down at that young templar who caught her attentions from across the grand room. Maker, even as she tortured him about the idea she couldn't deny how often as a girl she wondered about finding him alone. Dragging him off to a back part of the library and savoring all those parts of theirs that were different but fit so deliciously together.

"Lana," he moaned, staring as if it was the first time they'd ever seen each other.

"Honey eyes," she whispered back, a smile flirting with his lips at the ache in her voice. Blessed Andraste, how she wanted him. Stretching upon her thighs, she straddled Cullen's waist, barely pausing to adjust for her stomach. Her fingers rolled around the bottom of his cock, extending it straight up.

Tipping down as far as her stomach would allow towards his face, Lana breathed, "I love you," as she thrust herself deep onto his hard erection.

"Dear Maker," Cullen groaned, his lips whiffling as he tried to remain motionless while the woman of his old fantasies rode him slow at first but gaining speed with every thrust.

"Tell me," she ordered, her body's desire driving his generous cock deeper with momentum. "Did you dream of this? Want it? Wrap your fingers around yourself while begging for me?"

He panted harder, his toes flexing to dig into the ancient mattress. His hips twisted higher, thrusting with her to drive right against her internal buttons. "Blessed Andraste, damn near every night!" Cullen cried.

The sheen of their little play snapped off, the man returning to devour her as he wished. Scooping up the hem of her sweater, Cullen's fingers cupped tight to her breasts. He shoved up everything in the way, allowing his warm skin to tease hers. _Sweet Maker!_ Kneading into her breasts with all the skills of a master, Cullen drew forth such a throbbing heat between her legs she began to rock her hips. Guiding her to find the perfect rhythm, his fingers circled up and down her nipples, Lana matching it with herself wrapped around his cock.

Her husband and lover, the man that was once so young to barely be called that upon meeting him, shut his eyes tight as he neared the abyss. Words of the chant dripped from his quivering lips. Was that what he'd do while he pleasured himself to thoughts of her? Maker's breath, why was that such a turn on?

With as deep a thrust down as her thighs could manage, Lana felt the stirrings first within her when a deep grunt and then a louder, "Merciful Andraste," gasped from Cullen's lips. He dropped her breasts, the sweater falling back into place, in order to pin her hips down. Bucking his own, he clung to the last vestiges of his orgasm while Lana watched the pleasure play across his face.

Taking a shuddering breath, those honey eyes opened and he stared up at her. A giddy laugh broke free, which he tried to shake off. Trapped between the here and the past, he seemed uncertain what to do beyond being amazed. Staring over at his fist, Cullen muttered in seeming shock, "I still have your underwear."

Lana laughed at the sincerity in his voice, "Yes, you do." She should climb off him, try to mop the mess up that'd spill out of her, and pluck her underwear free to slip back on. But this wasn't some quick tryst to work off tension fast before the other templars caught on. He was hers, and they had all the time they wished. Cullen seemed to blink through the euphoric haze settling on his brain to reach the same conclusion.

Bending those stomach muscles trapped behind far too much cloth, he sat up. Fingers wrapping back through her hair, Cullen sighed in contentment as he brushed his forehead against hers. Lana pulled him tight to her for the kisses her stomach made impossible before. She felt the lingering ache in between her thighs crying out for more, but Maker, all she wanted was to kiss him the way she never could in the tower before.

Sweet lips slipped from hers, Cullen whispering, "That wasn't supposed to happen. I mean, I very much enjoyed it, but I wanted this to be for you. A day devoted to you and not the..."

Circling the scruffy cheek, Lana's thumb ran down the small cleft in his chin as she smiled, "You really think you were the only one dreaming for that to happen when I was an apprentice?"

"I..." he stuttered, blinking rapidly as the blush returned. Cullen moved to wrap his hand through the back of his neck, but Lana caught it to thread through her fingers.

"While I may have been good at following the rules, I wouldn't say that my mind was perfectly pure all the time," she snickered, her lips trailing up to softly nibble upon his earlobe.

"Maker's...beloved," Cullen trembled, those honey eyes slipping closed as his adams apple rolled upward. "Then," he coughed, "I feel it is my duty to fulfill all your fantasies."

"All of them?" Lana lifted an eyebrow, daring him.

"Within reason," Cullen tacked on, causing her to laugh. Nuzzling his lips to her neck, he began to press kisses to her birthmark. Sweet Maker, she'd been happy to leave it at 0 and 1, but the throbbing ache returned as his warm mouth caressed her skin. Dipping lower near the top of her breasts swaddled in the sweater, Cullen whispered, "There's always your bed, Apprentice."

The bunk beds they'd clambered on as children, sometimes building forts much to templar consternation, broken like shattered ribs. Blankets stripped free, mattresses exploded and drenched in blood. So much blood. Lana began to shake, and it took a moment before Cullen realized it wasn't due to anticipation. This was her home for so long, but it was taken from her. Barely a Grey Warden and she returned to the halls where she knew every stone, every notch, to find her friends without faces, her teachers broken into pieces.

A hand cupped her cheek, the warmth pulling her from the dark memory. Lana tried to shake it off, forcing a smile on, but he must have known. Maybe he felt the same too. Cullen's arms wrapped tight to her in a hug and slowly he pulled her down to rest on top of him.

Laying together, apprentice and templar; bodies wound up, legs beside legs, hands clinging to backs, it had seemed so impossible for so long. He smoothed his fingers up and down her arm, the sweater clinging tighter as he did. "So much time," Lana breathed, not even certain what she was saying.

"Many people lived here, good people," Cullen said, his voice stripped. He seemed to be staring through the ceiling. Could he see all the way to the fourth floor where he'd been trapped for...far too long?

"It's all gone," she buried her cheek tighter to his chest, needing the safety of her husband. "The circles, the templars, everything we ever knew... I thought the tower was immutable, that my life would be lived trapped between these stones. I'd grow, I'd study, and I'd die here. There was little else. And now..."

"I have you," Cullen insisted, perhaps feeling as crushed by the weight of time marching forward as she did.

Lana tipped her head up, her fingers wandering over his scratchy cheek, "And I have you, even if I never ever thought... Maker's sake," she gasped, "we're going to have a baby."

He laughed once at that, struggling to sit up higher so he could watch her caress her stomach. Placing his hand beside hers, Cullen breathed against the top of her head, "Yes, we are."

"A family. I never imagined. Forget the Grey Wardens, even being a mage it seemed impossible..." Her eyes drifted around the fading room. A few tapestries remained in tatters, moths chewing chunks off the ends until most of the sword of mercy that bore the templar crest disappeared. Soon there would be nothing remaining but the empty bar. It was all going to vanish.

"Lana," Cullen whispered, drawing her to him.

"Hm?"

"What about Agatha?" he asked and she curdled her face.

"Maker, no. That's a hard pass. I thought you were set on Serena."

He shifted under her to denote a shrug, "It sounds far too close to the Orlesian empress and I'd rather not be reminded of her every time I gaze down at my daughter."

"You're gonna have to come up with a boy's name too. Just in case," she said. Together they snuggled back upon the bed, the soon-to-be father cuddling the weary soon-to-be mother close to his chest.

"Perhaps," he said, once again avoiding the fact there was a good chance it wasn't a girl inside her.

"Are you under the impression you can simply will what sex the child will be?" she snickered.

Lips pressed to her forehead whispered, "Consider it blind faith."

"Cullen," her voice shattered through the air, the thought that clung to her tongue but never slipped past her teeth finally growing wings. "Do you think our baby could be a mage?"

His arms stiffened, as she expected. He had to know it was highly likely, but she had no idea how he'd react or if he'd put any thought into it. _What if...?_

"It is possible," he said, his voice low.

"Do you," Lana swallowed the lump in her throat and continued, "do you worry that our child will be?"

"Lana, I..."

"Mages hurt you, I understand, and they -- we -- are dangerous. To see that same potential threat in your child's eye is..."

"Lana," he sat up, his hands keeping her held tight to his chest so she could look into his face. "I do worry, but only because of how the world views mages. How much more difficult life can be with magic. How cruel it is to have to fear possession. All the pain that comes with being a mage."

She snickered, her eyes darting down towards her stomach. "And yet, it doesn't stop us from being born." Maker only knew what was sleeping inside of there, growing bigger every day. The Maker only knew what would come of it.

"I thank Andraste every day that you were," he said.

Her watering vision darted up to the man who'd loved her for longer than seemed imaginable. "What if I was born without magic?"

"No, just the way you are," Cullen moved to place a kiss to her forehead, but she lifted up higher. Tears of both joy and fear dripped down her cheeks to land upon his while their lips melded.

"This, uh," Lana took a staggering breath to try and catch her bearings, "this probably wasn't your intentions for the day."

"You could say that," he smiled, his thumbs trying to wick away her tears. "Originally, I was going to lead up to the roof so we could have a picnic under the stars."

Her heart bloomed at the idea, "There's still time."

"I..." his smile dimmed as Cullen stared down at his hands, "I brought you here, back to Kinloch because they're going to tear the tower down."

"I know," she snuggled tighter to him. At his look of surprise, she added, "You think you're the only one who Arl Teagan talks to? I'm not surprised, the College has little use for it and the bandits have been a problem out here. It's...it makes sense."

"It's your home," he gasped, unable to shake off the shock at how she'd already moved on from the loss.

Lana knew every scratch in the floor, where the stone was broken and then carefully put back. Where a floorboard slid up to allow apprentices to stash secret letters and contraband. How to get across the library without making a sound. Exactly the pitch needed to rattle the windows in the atrium. She'd lived here for over 13 years. Grew here, learned how to read and write, cast spells, built friendships, met the man she loved. Had life snap back at her with the hard lesson that the world wasn't fair, that sometimes bad happened no matter how good one tried to be, and in the end, all you had was yourself to stand up against it.

Rubbing her hand across her husband's cheek, she smiled, "It was my home, but my home now is with you." Dragging his hand along her stomach, she added, "With both of you."


	10. Baby Shower

_31 weeks..._

 

The lingering celebratory atmosphere drifted an inch above the floorboards. Reiss sat propped up upon a makeshift throne crafted out of their case files. While not comfortable, someone was kind enough to take the time to add a cushion below her expanding ass. In the chair to her right, perched like the evil Regent in all those courtly stories, was Lunet. Rather than twirling her mustache, she was tipping back the last of her beer. The crew had long drained the keg and were trying to finish off the last few drops between them all.

"Knock it off! I've had enough!" Jorel screeched from the only desk not covered in opened gifts, plates of remaining food, or nearly dozing detectives. He tried to wave his arms and pull the giant qunari lady off of him, but Qimat was too strong.

"Stop squirming," she ordered, yanking a diaper pin off of her horns and jabbing it towards Jorel's skin, "I nearly got this!" The dwarf was of sound enough mind to freeze as the pin mercifully went through white fabric and not his innards.

"You know, you can't exactly ask babies to stop moving while doing that," Reiss chuckled at what began as one of those foolish games done to try and teach the impending mother what fresh hell she stepped into. But, seeing as how her entire office was full of the child-less and often proud of it, it quickly devolved into seeing who could properly get a diaper onto Jorel.

"Babies don't have his grip," Qimat responded. She narrowed her eyes, honing in on a corner of fabric that shouldn't be poking out of the diaper. Rather than yank it out and restart, she tugged it forward and up, no doubt nestling Jorel's testicles higher than they'd been in years. He yelped at the indignity, but wouldn't fight back as the qunari pinned the errant corner in place and picked the dwarf up under his arms.

"There, all done!" she smiled. Qimat was a great asset to the Solvers. At first she was plucked up off the streets because she was very large and people didn't want to mess with someone who could crack their skull open one handed. But, after warming to the rest in the agency, she became a surprisingly wonderful good-cop, charming suspects and witnesses alike into revealing things they'd never intended to.

"I hate you," Jorel grumbled, his arms crossed below the braided beard as he kicked his legs helplessly above the ground. They'd let him keep his trousers on for this sudden game, but it was still disconcerting to see a grown man wearing a diaper, especially with a pin jabbed right into the area above his crotch. It was a wonder the grumbling and loud mouthed Jorel was chosen for this humiliation when the soft-spoken twin Kurt sat quietly to the side. But perhaps that was why. No one wanted to disappoint Kurt, but giving it back to Jorel was a typical Tuesday.

"Well," Qimat asked, still waving the poor dwarf back and forth like a toddler. Her eyes cut through to Reiss who sat up in confusion.

"You're supposed to judge who was the best at it," Lunet explained, the one who'd planned all of this trying to take the lead. She'd taken the vague idea of a typical baby announcement then added an office party on for good measure.

Sliding off her throne, Reiss gripped under her stomach as she walked towards the glowering dwarf. "I'm afraid you have it all lopsided. You don't want to jab any pins near the baby's, um...nether region like that," she explained, her eyes darting up to Qimat.

Qimat shrugged, "Not like there's much to nick down there."

"Enough to get the job done," Jorel fumed, then sneered as titters broke out through the office. "More than enough!" he insisted, already doomed for a good month.

Sighing, Reiss moved to yank the pins off of Jorel but the dwarf snarled like a mad mabari. Her mabari was currently dozing under a pile of sausage wrappers. Accepting the dwarf wasn't about to let her use him as an example, Reiss fumbled for one of the dolls that was supposed to be used for the game. "Here, like this." Folding the cloth, Reiss mused to herself, "Like a kite, then you take this bottom part forward and...tada, all pinned in place."

Qimat stared down at how quickly she'd managed to get the baby doll clothed, then back to Jorel. "How'd you do that so fast?"

"If you ever have to diaper a little boy you learn to fly or get pissed on," Reiss chuckled. "I'm certain you'll figure it out, just keep trying," she encouraged Qimat. The qunari grinned at Jorel, who growled, but let himself be placed back upon the desk to try again.

Strange. The dwarf suffered no one, always the first to run barrel headlong into danger much to his poor, suffering brother's consternation. Climbing onto her chair again, Reiss' voice drifted down as she spoke to Lunet, "I'm beginning to think Detectives Qimat and Jorel are a thing."

"No shit," Lunet snorted, "been going at it for a month or so. Though they ain't told anybody yet officially. The dangers of an office romance surrounded by all us investigators."

"What?" Reiss staggered up, staring down at her friend who was drifting into her preferred state of a boozy haze. "How did I not know that?" She scrutinized her two people, the ones she was supposed to watch and know inside and out. An entire month they'd been intimate? Her mind tried to play back the end of day lock ups of late, Jorel impatient but...had he been waiting for Qimat to finish up so they could leave together?

"Hey," Lunet interrupted, "it ain't that big a surprise you missed it. Been a little busy what with the Perp and all. Lots o' them trips up to the castle and back takes time away from staring at us trying to avoid work and ferreting out all our dark secrets."

She curled her fingers over her stomach, trying to shake off the painless flutters of her Perp doing the walk inside her womb. "Still..." Reiss felt a sting in the back of her head. She didn't want to miss out on their lives, even as her own became vastly more complicated.

"You know those two. Jorel'll say something stupid, probably curse in dwarven, Qimat will take great offense. There'll be a duel for honor. Assuming they both survive, loud makeup sex, then they break up," Lunet sized up the situation the same as Reiss would, though in more lewder terms. "Didn't seem like a big thing to worry you over."

Her friend paused and pulled the lip of the bottle away from her mouth, "Wasn't there some big todo up in Arlathan with the princess and a tiara or some junk? Didn't it need you there too?"

"I believe so," Reiss shrugged, "but it doesn't involve me."

"You sure about that?" Lunet asked, her foot knocking back and forth into the case files. "I mean, that'll be like your...what, step-daughter, kinda? Won't your Perp be expected to go to all the fancy birthday parties and garden lunches with its blue blood siblings?"

"I...I hadn't considered," she blinked.

"Well, best be considering it now. Hours surrounded by high-born humans politely clapping while babies shit their drawers. You'll go full out of your mind in boredom. Oh, and buy good dress shoes that don't pinch," Lunet offered up the only advice she had before returning to watching the qunari and dwarf battle for supremacy.

Reiss stared down at her stomach. As it expanded beyond means, she'd taken to wearing some of Alistair's tunics -- about the only clothing available to her that was long enough. But for the party, her friends all got together to knit her quite possibly the ugliest sweater imaginable. Everyone in the office threw in their own stitching pattern as well as ball of yarn leaving it to look as if a knitting basket vomited across her. Barely large enough to cover her widening flesh, it stretched and pulled in odd places with a gaping hole where her cleavage pressed together, it was both disturbingly ugly and the sweetest gift she'd received. They must have been working on it for awhile, long before she ever screwed up the courage to tell them. And they knit it all in secret without her knowing.

There had been many trips to the palace. Alistair insisted she meet with a healer there at least once a week because anyone in the alienage wouldn't be good enough. She scoffed at first until he pulled his eyebrows in together and whispered about the taint. For that Reiss had no argument, so she went even if most trips ended with 'You're fine, maybe a bit of heartburn, but fine.' Then there were other matters to handle, such as choosing a cradle which then required a vanity and changing table to match. Her brother was kept inside an apple crate for four months after being born. That was what she knew. Every mark of royalty struck her as superfluous. But, her trips to the palace weren't all baby business. Reiss wanted to see him, to watch his eyes light up as he babbled with her stomach. Maker, it was as if those two were already having conversations -- the Perp inside her waking and kicking whenever it heard Alistair.

But how much of her life here was she missing out on for those moments? How much kept passing on by with no one thinking it was worth mentioning to the boss?

"How'd you get so good at folding up the nappies? They pound it into your head in the castle? Or did one o' them in the Marches hire you on as a nanny?" Lunet placed down her mug and snatched up a sausage. For whatever reason she found it hilarious that the menu for this party was figs and sausage. Subtle wasn't Lunet's strong suit. A few of the other detectives were waving the tiny wieners on sticks near Jorel who snarled and knocked them all away.

"My parents," Reiss answered. "I started a bit with my sister, but a lot of it was Lorace. When he came along, my mother was too busy with work and a lot of it fell to me." She flinched, the familiar hollowness that came with the memories of her parents flooding back. Reiss ached for them to be happy, but every warm memory was tinged in blood and death. Her mother trusted her eldest to nurture her siblings, so much of the day to day drudgery of child rearing falling to Reiss. At the time, she'd complain in a whisper, well aware what doing it aloud would cost her, but in the end she needed it. Needed to know how to deal with her siblings when the blight took her parents from her. She'd cried and bled for her brother and sister, on occasion bitter at what was forced upon her, but refusing to give up.

"I wonder what my mother would think about all this. Me, having a baby...while unmarried. She'd be getting a grandchild, but a human-blooded one," Reiss worked her fingers back and forth, wishing she had a quill to jab at parchment.

"Round ears sure, but it's also one from a King. That's got to put a bigger notch in the plus column, eh?" Lunet jabbed her elbow into Reiss' side, trying to make her smile.

"You don't know my parents. They were...devout. I'm certain it'd be nothing but anger, ridicule, then shunning for my not only being knocked up outside of wedlock but with a married man."

Lunet grabbed onto her elbow, seeming to steady Reiss' twitching fingers. "Rat, that ain't the only possibility. Sometimes people say one thing in the street, but shit in the home's different. They may have loved that little bugger. Could still, from, ya know, the Maker's side. Or wherever."

"What about you?" Reiss blinked trying to hide the tears Lunet's kindness birthed, "What would your father say if you were pregnant?"

"'Holy shit, she finally learned to love the dick.'" Lunet cocked one eyebrow up, then broke into laughter. "He'd probably throw a parade if I walked back into his shit hovel as round as you without any ring on my finger. You know the worst bit about it, he wasn't so bad a father before. Not as strict as others, never beat me or nothing. But I went and didn't accept his future, didn't want it, and it's as if I spat upon his ashes or something."

Steadying her breath, Lunet stared down at her hands. Knotted against her wrist was a golden threaded bracelet done up in a lace pattern. She twisted it about and a sad smile flitted against her lips. "As I said, they say one thing in the streets but it's different in the home."

Reiss didn't know what to say. Reaching over, she tried to catch Lunet's hand to comfort her, but the always composed woman already shook off any lingering pain from her old scars. "My life may not be perfect, or what's expected, but at least I ain't gonna face shit filled drawers and crying all hours of the night." Her smile cracked wider and she jabbed her elbow gently into Reiss' stomach. The Perp took the invasion poorly, rolling its feet around as if trying to fend it off.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Reiss groaned.

"Your life, not mine," she snickered, as if proud that she never need worry about falling into this situation.Lunet swiped up an old bottle from her secret stash and before drinking asked, "Whatcha gonna do with your haul here?"

Reiss stared around at the gifts from people who she both employed and considered friends. They were given from a place of kindness if not a lagging comprehension of what babies entirely were. Mixed in with a few baskets of nappies and clothes was a serving tray minus anything that went on it, three cloves of garlic -- unexplained -- and a spoon. Kurt insisted that all the fancy babies got a spoon when they were born, though Reiss doubted it was usually made of wood and slotted. Still, everything could probably be used by her and her child, eventually.

"Take them upstairs, I guess. As if my place isn't crowded enough."

"Not to the palace, then?" Lunet asked, one eye drifting over to her boss. Reiss had expected her old friend to put up a fight about her decision to move on up for a year, but she only sighed and said 'Aye, not surprising.' Still, even with Lunet's blessing, it felt as if she didn't really want her to go.

"They've got lots of things up there already, I think. I'll need stuff here too, ya know."

"For when you return," Lunet agreed, bobbing her head like a stork caught in a windstorm.

"Yes," Reiss turned to her, catching the sarcasm in her voice. "For when I come back."

"In a year," Lunet added, "or more, depending on how long that kid takes to scurry out of ya."

"I will be visiting too," Reiss caught her other employees holding their breaths as they listened in, "often, to check in and see how things are progressing."

"Sure ya will boss, sure ya will," Lunet nodded her head, silencing her sour lips with more liquor. As she popped it away, she wiped off her caustic tongue then glanced to the side. "Ah, right, slipped my mind, there's another present here for ya."

"Unsurprising in this chaos that I'd miss one," Reiss muttered, accepting the brown package from Lunet's fingers. Strange, it was clearly brought in by carrier or messenger. As her fingers drew across the address she moved a section of twine to find a stamp from Val Royeaux upon it. Turning it over, the seal of the Grand Cathedral itself glistened in golden wax.

Lunet read the trepidation as Reiss glared down in terror at the gift. "What's the matter? Worried it's another kidney or some guy's left toe?"

"I think it's from my sister," Reiss breathed. Six months and she finally thought to pick up a quill and condemn her to the void. Lunet shifted at that, already prepared to snatch away whatever was about to offend or attack her friend and boss.

Shaking off the fear, Reiss slit open the string and wrenched free the paper. A wooden box marked for potion bottles sat in her hands, causing Lunet to snort, "Maybe she sent you her errands by mistake."

It was too light to be full of glass and didn't clink. Something was inside, for certain, but not what was marked on the box. Slowly, Reiss drew back the lid until it fell out of her shaking fingers. Sitting in a nest of straw was a small book and a folded scrap of ivory colored fabric. She picked up the book first, slightly larger than the one she took out into the field with a soft, pinkish-red leather cover. It fell open to reveal her name written in gold ink, below it was a place for the father and their eventual child. 'Baby's First Chant of Light.'

Embedded into the paper was the phrase, "A learned child is a blessing upon his parents and onto the Maker."

Reiss passed the book over to Lunet who was staring as if it were a poisonous snake. Plucking up the fabric, it unfolded to reveal itself to be a dress for a baby. It was tied in the back for easy access with tight sleeves to keep the child warm. A single card was tucked inside the dress, which fell into Reiss' palm.

"'Please forgive the lateness, it seems my sewing and embroidering skills are not what they once were,'" she read aloud, twisting the card holding her sister's words back and forth. "She...embroidery?"

Lifting the dress up higher, Reiss spotted the words sewn in a beautiful looping script along the hem, "No matter what, you're family." _Maker's breath!_ Tears burst from her eyes as she clasped a hand to her mouth.

Lunet tugged the dress up, inspecting the words herself and shaking her head. "What's it mean?"

"It's..." Reiss blubbered through the tears, "it's something our mother used to say. When we'd do wrong, really wrong. Atisha thought that she was going to be sold to someone for a misdeed, slavers, a circus. I can't remember. Mom, she, she grabbed her arm and said that. Meant it. Even when at odds we were in this together. Sweet Andraste," she tried to wipe away at the tears on a full downpour.

Some of that was courtesy of her body teeming with life, but so much was thanks to her sister. How could she even fear that Atisha'd turn on her? After everything they did, the struggles to survive, to keep in contact even with countries between them? "I have to, uh, I should..." Reiss glanced around, barely able to see through the waterfall dripping across her eyes.

"Hey," Lunet caught her, "you can write to her later. There's plenty of time. This is a party, right. Got to celebrate and all."

Reiss nodded. Carefully, she folded up the dress and placed it into the box before gripping it tight against the top of her stomach. "You think I'll put down something completely out of character to my sister and that'll worry her, don't you?"

Her friend shrugged, "You've been getting as sappy as the damn Vhenedhal tree in fall. If I knew filling with a Perp could do that I'd, well, I'd stick with the ladies."

Shoving her shoulder into Lunet, Reiss chuckled as she was pulled back to reality. "There is a lot left to do still, the Hanson case for starters."

"Ugh," Lunet groaned before lifting her voice to warn the others, "I think that's the longest the boss has gone before returning to 'hey, people are still getting murdered out there. Let's get back to work' mode."

"Well, people are still being murdered. They don't stop just because babies are being born," Reiss muttered. "Though, that would be nice." Her fingers crested over her stomach.

She had so much left here to do. There were a good three cases on her docket as well as some follow ups she promised scattered around the office. Her people were good but another set of eyes always helped. And, Maker take her, she hadn't done a thing to prepare her apartment for the baby. Every time she began to put thought into getting a crib or even just putting her knives and other weapons out of reach, another crisis would arrive, or she'd stumble into bed exhausted, or she'd be needed up at the palace.

Was there any chance the Perp could remain inside of her for another good six or seven months? Reiss should have everything together by then. As if reading her thoughts, Lunet passed the Hanson file over, then asked, "How long until you think you'll be leaving us for good?"

"We've got a few months left." She paused, remembering how near Satinalia was, "A month, at least. Perhaps more. I don't see a reason for me to hide up at the palace until it's really close."

"You're not moving up there until the kid's head's sticking out between your thighs," Lunet laughed at the absurdity, but a hope seemed to glimmer inside of it at the infamous Sayer stubbornness. She didn't want Reiss to leave.

"The way this case is going it may not be until the child can cut off their own umbilical cord," she groaned, flipping through the file. Maker, this was a mess of a head scratcher. A butcher, a baker, and a candlestick maker all found beheaded down by the docks. All they had to go on was some shady mention of a Jack and a knocked over candlestick.

Reiss was too absorbed in the evidence to look up at the sound of the door opening, until she heard a voice say, "Awe, don't tell me I missed the party."

Alistair smiled at her, then he glanced over at Qimat and Jorel, "And the dwarf diapering contest as well...?" Jorel sneered but didn't respond to the King. Instead, he sniped at his lover who began to bicker back. Perhaps that duel of honor would be coming quicker than Lunet surmised.

Sliding in around the desks, Alistair beamed down at Reiss before placing a kiss to her cheek, "There's the woman of the hour."

"I saved you some cake," she said, gesturing towards the few plates Reiss managed to barricade off from her sugar starved crew.

"This is why I love you," he mused, returning to her for a proper kiss. "Well, there are a lot of other reasons, but cake procurement is up there. Where's Muse?" he wondered aloud.

"Under the desk, sleeping."

Dropping to a knee, Alistair found the agency's dreaded guard dog covered in ribbons and bows in varying shades of blue and pink. He had to rub Muse's head, the dog happy at the attention, before snatching up a piece of cake. From her perch by the window, Sylaise glanced a single cautious yellow eye at the king before deciding the nap was better.

Slowly, her people began to filter back to their desks accepting the party was over and work remained. Reiss followed suit, rising off of her throne and waddling back towards her own desk.

Alistair trailed behind, his wide eyes glancing around at the mess, "How'd it go?"

"Good," Reiss answered. "It was fun and sweet, so many presents. And..." she felt her throat tighten at Atisha's gift.

Alistair sensed the change, his fingers covered in frosting gripping onto her arm, "Reiss?"

She turned back and smiled at him, "I heard from my sister. It's good, she's good, okay with it. I mean."

"Thank the Maker," Alistair breathed. As Reiss sat on her chair, he slid across the desk and stared down at her. "I know it was weighing on you and all, so...one more problem down."

"Yep," she smiled, grateful for that weight to be lifted.

"All that's left is getting to your due date, and getting that baby out of you."

"You make it sound so easy," Reiss stared up at him, the father of two scooping his sticky fingers against her cheek. He noticed his mess and after wincing at the mistake, tried to wipe it off with his hand. Finding it all hilarious, Reiss licked the frosting off his fingers. She hadn't meant it to be sensuous, but Alistair's breathing slowed and they both shared in the same flush.

"Well, uh, I know the whole birthing part isn't a walk in the park, but...we'll have a baby at the end of it. You and me, together," he bent down, placing his lips to hers. She kissed the man who always tasted of sprinkles and sunshine.

Her heart felt lighter being near him, knowing that she was about to be a mother, but...as her eyes drifted away from him she caught Lunet staring forlornly at the torn paper scattered upon her desk. "Soon," Reiss whispered to herself, her hand dropping away from her work to caress her stomach, "It'll all happen soon."


	11. It's Time

_36 weeks..._

 

Howls, unnaturally sharp for the deep roads, echoed off the stone crumbling around Lana. Dust, there was always too much dust. Dipping down to her knees, she tried to wipe the dust off of her shoes only to draw her hand back coated in blood.

_What the...?_

A piercing cry broke the air.

Whipping her head up, she broke into a run down the ancient road in pursuit of the sound. Her Grey Warden robes swished around her ankles while she unsheathed the staff off her back. In the distance, across from the crumbling ground, a gang of hurlocks glanced back towards whatever was crying while scampering in fear away from it. Strange, there were darkspawn around her but she couldn't sense them.

It was a problem to solve later. Lana redoubled her efforts, pursuing the tears because her body told her to. Someone was in pain. That was it. It was a cry of pain, or fear, as if a terrifying darkness was encroaching upon the poor soul. Shadows erupted out from below her feet, clouding the cavern. Lana twisted around trying to find her exit or even where she came from, but it all vanished into the void. There was nothing here but the sound of her breath and heartbeat.

No. There was another. Below her more experienced throbbing heart was a smaller flutter, barely strong enough to strike the air, but it existed. The noise called to her, pulling her further along out of the void. As darkness faded she stepped into the light of day brighter than staring into the sun.

Lana threw her hand up to block it, only to be met by the sounds of battle. Yanking her blinder away, she stared in shock to find herself atop the tower of Fort Drakon. Darkspawn swarmed in the multitude; soldiers, mages, elves, and dwarves all fighting for their lives and their cause. She tried to make sense of what was happening, how she could get from the deep roads to here, when the cry began again.

By daylight, her ears recognized the wails of an infant. It tugged at her soul, the baby in a shrill panic as if it'd been starving for days. Turning around, she spotted a pile of blankets sitting in the middle of a ring of soldiers trying to fight off darkspawn. A hurlock corpse tumbled right beside the baby, its black blood dribbling near the pile of blue and silver blankets.

Swords and bodies shifted, trying to block Lana from the child. Gritting her teeth, she barely broke the veil to send both soldier and darkspawn flying. Below her feet the blankets rustled, the baby waving its arms and legs in pain. She had no idea how to help, but she had to try. Dipping to a knee, Lana scooped up the bundle. Her fingers moved to draw back the blanket that fell over the child's head, when a roar that nearly cracked Ferelden in half shattered the air.

A black spot circled the sky, its shadow lengthening over the ground to swallow it whole, until the archdemon landed upon the top of the tower. Stretching out its tail, a cry erupted from the horned head that knocked every body back. All the soldiers turned from their darkspawn and ran headlong at the creature, their swords waving as a cry of "For Ferelden" rang from each throat. Lana was too far from it for her spells to even reach, but she spotted a familiar tuft of blonde hair dodging a swipe of the dragon's claws.

She blinked, and suddenly Lana stood before the weakened and bloody archdemon. A greatsword weighed down her exhausted arms, but the knowledge she had to finish this gifted her the strength. _But how? She'd just been over...?_ The baby forgotten, Lana lifted the sword high and moved to stab it right through the archdemon's throat.

As the blade was about to make contact, the dragon's head flipped around and a great yellow eye stared into hers. Its slit of a pupil constricted, power wafting off the creature while it seemed to be studying Lana as if weighing her heart. She tried to shake it off and finish the job, when the eye went milky white. A voice pounded in her head, inscrutable, but the depths of its baritone rumbled through her veins.

The tower lit up around her, every darkspawn body screaming through her head as she felt them all. Every voice. Every tooth. Every song.

A feral scream ripped apart Lana's throat, the pain agonizing. She tried to claw apart her burning flesh to free herself, but a hand caught her wrist to stop her.

"Lana?" a terrified voice whispered out of the darkness. "Lana, what is it?"

As soon as the pain struck it faded, allowing Lana to open up her eyes to find Cullen staring down at her. He'd cupped tight to her cheek, his eyes wide in panic. It was a dream, she tried to assure herself, nothing more than a darkspawn dream. But she knew that pain, she remembered it better than any other in her life.

"Was it a nightmare?" her husband asked. He didn't seem to want to let her go, but she sat up, letting her feet hit the floor, needing to see it was their abbey and not the deep roads. Bad dreams happened to them both, the past rearing up from where it should stay, causing one to wake and try to talk the other down. She'd often come to from visions of blood streaking down her arms to find herself curled up in Cullen's. All those bad turns, all those nights and she'd never seen him so stricken white before.

Hands curled against her shoulders, trying to massage away the pain as he rolled the strap of her nightgown back and forth. She wanted to fall into him, to let his touch soothe her as it always did, but it nibbled at the back of her brain. A tiny voice, almost imperceptible if she wasn't listening for it, sang for them all.

"Darkspawn," Lana gasped, her fingers curling tight to the bed.

"I feared as such," Cullen said.

"No," she shook her head, the tears dripping down her cheeks as she turned to face him, "it's...Cullen, it's back."

"What is?"

She wanted to be wrong. She begged to be wrong. But she knew in her soul she wasn't.

Screwing her eyes up tight, she breathed, "The taint."

"What are you talking about? The taint, but it's been...over a year. How can it be back?" He was panicking too, one hand digging into his neck while the other remained tight to her arm.

"I don't know," Lana shook her head, "I don't understand. Maybe I, I could have only knocked it down, and it was still there in my blood lurking. Waiting to resurge. I don't know," she gasped, her face folding into her lap.

"You're wrong," he insisted, "it was a bad dream. You dreamed about being a Warden and..."

"For the love the Maker," she spat, "I know what the taint is! I know what it feels like to have it swirling inside of me!" Her shout rang through their bedroom, Lana's wrath landing fast against her husband's insistent wall. He crumbled at her raw anger, Cullen drifting inward as she was struck back by it. Their one hope stolen from them. She'd been so cocky, so certain that she'd been the one to solve the curse.

"What if...?" Cullen blinked through the start of tears, "You can take it again. Give yourself another year, and then another, and..."

"That's assuming it'd even work again, or be as effective with each dose. I need to..." She shuffled off the bed and attempted to rise to her feet when pain walloped up her stomach. Gasping, Lana tumbled to a knee. It felt as if her intestines were set on fire and then tried to flee in terror. She attempted to knead the flaming pain away, her knuckles rolling across her lower stomach not swollen with child.

"Lana..." Cullen dashed off the bed and fell to the ground beside her.

She took in a steadying breath, shaking her head, "It's, they said it could happen. That there'd be..." Lana moved to wrap her hand around her husband to help her rise, when another one hit, stronger and deeper inside. "Maker's breath," she groaned, trying to escape the pain coming from within her.

"Oh no," Lana felt something wet sliding between her legs. As she drew back her fingers, she blanched at the blood that'd begun.

Cullen gasped, his face in a near panic as she tried to rise, "Lana, you're hurt."

His words were so simple it drew a perverted laugh to her throat. Trying to bury it, she gritted out, "The baby's coming."

"So soon?" he tried to scoop his hand under her stomach as if he could tell his child to calm down, "Is it too soon?"

"I have no idea," she admitted, tears springing forward. "I fear my body's rejecting the child, because of the taint."

"What...?" Cullen gulped, the panic she wished she could have found adorable gripping tight. The about to be father's bumbling should be quaint and something to laugh at later. Instead, her own heart was racing as the pain of both impeding childbirth and the blight wracked her body. Her own fear threatened to engulf her pounding heart. "What do we do?"

"Help me up," she ordered, her husband guiding his arms around her back, "then, you'll have to send for Misha."

"The local midwife?" he sneered while sliding her back to bed. She groped down to find the blood pooling between her crotch wasn't as much as she feared. "I thought you hated her. What about using Mia's..."

Lana dipped into the fade to feel her baby's life strong, its little heart thumping but growing more urgent as if in fear or running from danger. Shaking it away, she gripped onto Cullen's hand, "We don't have a choice. This kid's coming fast."

"Okay," he nodded, "I'll, I'll send someone to collect her...just," Cullen moved to slide away, but he kept his hand knotted around hers. As their tether reached the end, he gasped, "Tell me you'll be okay. Tell me you'll survive this and not, just promise me."

She was walking a fine tightrope across the unknown. A single wobble of her ankle or a blast of wind and Lana would topple into the void. In the process she'd lose not only her life, but her child's as well. Putting on a fake smile, she lied to Cullen, "I'll be okay."

Wiping away the tears, he snatched up a pair of pants and dressed quickly. "Once I find whoever's awake and send them, I'll come right back. How many of the healing draughts should I bring? All of them? And towels. There was something about boiling towels..." He spoke to himself, needing to have something to do while Lana lay her hand against her stomach.

Please be okay, little one.

Please don't let my blood have poisoned you.

 

* * *

 

By the time Misha arrived the contractions had slowed along with the pain from the taint re-surging across her body. Lana was trying to keep focused away from the fear and abdomen wracking cramps by pacing back and forth in their room. Unaware she was doing it, her fingers kept snapping a single flame on and off from the candle upon her desk. It wasn't until Amber announced the arrival of the midwife that Cullen grabbed onto her hand to get her to stop.

She blanched at the foolish move, about to apologize for letting her magic nearly slip out, when he cupped his hands around her cheeks and moved to kiss her.

"You sent for me," Misha interrupted, trying to fill the doorway. There was truly no love lost between the local midwife who relied as much upon folk legends as common sense, and the sudden healer in the woods who seemed to mend people as if by magic. At first, Lana only interrupted into a birth if it was nearing a death even the glorified midwife couldn't handle. But as people came to trust the little woman in the abbey, no doubt in part thanks to their national love of her husband, Lana became requested by expectant mothers more than Misha.

The midwife was dressed in the typical delivery apron, dingy from use with a few stains that'd never come out. Her greying and dusky hair was rolled back tight into a knot, the fringe of bangs making her appear younger than she was. Twisting her pinched face around the room she spotted her nemesis clinging tight to her stomach, then nodded her head to Cullen. "Commander."

"Lana's in labor," he explained, speaking up first.

"And the miracle worker requires my services?" Misha chuckled harshly once, "Excuse me while I inspect the sky for flying nugs."

Cullen looked about to growl at her, but Lana gripped onto his arm and tugged him back. After sucking in a breath courtesy of the last round knocking through her spine, she stared up into Misha's hard blue eyes. "Please," she begged, "it's coming too early."

"How early?" the woman uncrossed her arms and began to slide into their bedroom.

"Four weeks, I think, perhaps three. The date wasn't the easiest to pin down," Lana confessed as Misha's cold fingers parted down her stomach.

"Hopefully the father was easier to determine," she muttered to herself, clearly enjoying having the upper hand. "Has the baby flipped yet?"

"No," Lana admitted, though out of everything going wrong somehow a breach was the least of her concerns.

Misha's eyes narrowed and she gazed at her, "But it's not a problem because you have some secret way of flipping 'em around, right?"

It was surprisingly easy for Lana to slip into the homes of people who'd never seen a mage in their life and cast spells. As long as she kept the fancy lights to a minimum they had no idea what was going on beyond suddenly feeling better. But the midwife who'd been through hundreds of births knew one couldn't just wave their fingers and roll a baby onto its head from inside the womb. At least no normal woman.

Hissing, a strong contraction seized up her lower half, sending Lana towards the ground. Cullen grabbed onto her hand while Misha, surprisingly, took the other. Together they guided her back to the bed as Lana tried to suck in breaths and steady herself. It took a few more before she felt she could speak.

"How far apart are the contractions?" Misha asked. She'd thrown aside her indifference as she helped Lana slide back onto the bed. Her palms slid across Lana's roiling stomach, palpating it to find the baby's head right where it shouldn't be.

"Once every two or three minutes," Lana said.

"Hm," Misha tapped a finger to her lips, "I know of a few herbs that can stop contractions. Perhaps buy you some more days..."

"No," Lana sat up, grabbing onto her hand in a blind panic. "It has to come out, now. I can't...I can't wait."

"Missing four weeks of growing time? Look, I'm not a fan of yours. Believe me, I'd be ecstatic if you up and left, along with your little abbey of healing so the rest of us can get back to what we know here. But I'd think even you know the baby needs to stay in there as long as possible."

Lana had no way to tell her that the taint could kill her baby, was probably trying to right now. Her eyes stared over at Cullen who looked white as a ghost, his lips pulled back into a sort of forced smile that came across as a skull's rictus. Taken together it enhanced his undead facade.

Catching on that her patient wasn't about to give in, Misha sighed, "What about your water. Has it broke?"

"No, but there was blood. Enough to be noticeable," Lana confessed. She felt a failure at everything. How many children had she delivered? Perfectly healthy and happy babies that she left suckling on their mothers, and her first time out it was turning into a disaster.

Misha followed Lana's eyes to spot the underwear and towel that mopped up the mess. True to her profession she didn't bat an eye at the gore, maintaining an aloof facade, but Lana knew it wasn't a good sign. "Perhaps you're right. It is doubtful the herbs will work."

"Maker's balls," Lana cried, her hand snapping out to grip anything as a fresh contraction pulverized her already tender hips. This one felt as if someone placed white hot spikes into her pelvis and tried to jam it open. Cullen dashed forward, knotting his fingers around her clamped ones as he whispered something of encouragement. She couldn't make it out through the pain.

Silently, Misha watched the performance, no doubt ticking her tongue at how Lana cracked from the pressure. She felt tears building in the sides of her eyes at the level of agony twisting through her body from a second joining to birthing a baby in the span of hours. Life was too cruel sometimes.

"Breathe," Misha said. "In and out, you know how to do it. Think of something distracting. Many recite the Chant of Light."

Dripping from Lana's lips came the first and last thing she wanted to think upon. "In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. Oh Maker," she shuddered, the acute pain fading away to leave behind only her typical background level. As she returned to herself, she glanced up into Cullen's amber eyes, her mouth already finishing the phrase, "In death, sacrifice."

"That wasn't what I was expecting, but it worked," Misha said. "All right, I'll need to check you over, see how things are getting on down there. But, I need to speak with the Commander first. Are you okay on your own?"

Lana nodded, her teeth biting into her lip. The Grey Warden motto rattled around in her mouth like a bitter draught. It was why she was giving birth a month early, why she feared with every contraction pang what would come out of her, and also a reminder that she failed to finish it. Her victory against the archdemon, her vigilance in rebuilding the order, did none of it matter as she fled from the sacrifice?

It took a few more grips of his hand before Cullen staggered away from her. They didn't get far enough away from her for Lana to not overhear Misha explain what was most likely going to happen. Most of it was typical birthing stuff, the mess, the time it'd take, the noises, but then she paused and crossed her arms.

"Commander, I will not lie to you, the chances of your child surviving at this young of a stage are...slim. If you have anyone you can contact who is capable of great healing, I would do it now."

"I..." he nodded, and for a moment glanced over at the woman trying to pretend she wasn't listening in, "I will do that. Lana, I'll return shortly."

She waved meekly at that, unable to answer. This was her fault. All of it. She wouldn't be pregnant if she'd thought to plan for this possibility. She wouldn't be risking the life of an innocent if she'd not taken that stupid potion in the first place. And...Maker, damn it all, she wouldn't be facing holding its cold, little body in her hands if she'd gotten it right.

The tears wouldn't stop, Lana trying to hide away as the only one left in the room was the woman who hated her. Misha watched a moment, her head pulling out of her medicine bag, while Lana shrieked in fear and shame against the fist she wadded into her mouth. Everything. She doomed herself, Cullen, their baby. It was all her fault.

"It will be okay," Misha said. She unearthed a kerchief from her pocket and passed it to Lana, who tried to mop up her tears. "We take it one breath at a time. Luckily, you have the best midwife in Ferelden here with you."

"Thank you," Lana gasped, snot dribbling into the hankie along with her dignity. None of it mattered as long as... One breath. Then another. They could do this.

She could do this.

After all, she killed an archdemon and stopped a blight.

Anything was possible.

Taking a deep breath, Lana drew her fingers across her stomach and felt her baby's heartbeat. It was still with her.

 

* * *

 

For nearly thirty hours Lana screamed in agony as the contractions ripped apart her already depleted body while Cullen watched helplessly. He wanted to rush in and do something to free her of it, but it was all beyond him. The only thing he was capable of was giving her sips of water and holding her hand. Early on, during some of the time between contractions, Lana would pace, but then the increasing barrage wore upon her legs and she was stuck in bed.

"Andraste's prolapsed colon," she cursed, the last of the contraction fading away as her eyes darted up to her husband. "Well?"

He had to shake off the fear clinging to his heart to answer, "That's thirty two new curses." The game was meant to take their minds off the agony, but when she turned right to medical maladies, Cullen couldn't stop imagining every single one happening to her.

The midwife flitted between Lana's extended legs, always prodding into the intimate areas. He felt white hot both rage and bashfulness watching, but his wife seemed to take it all as normal. On occasion the pair would get into an argument about the best way to birth a baby, in particular over how dilated her cervix was, but Lana was willing to give in to Misha's wisdom. The pain must have been excruciating for her.

"I don't think it'll be long now," Misha said. Someone brought a small plate of chicken up for them all. Lana was unable to eat a thing, of course, and Cullen refused to leave her side. Only the midwife took the time, enjoying the simple meal before returning back to the birth at hand.

"How dilated?" Lana asked, restarting the same argument.

"Here we go again," Cullen whispered to himself. He thought it was far too soft for her to hear, but even as she panted in a breath, she snapped her head up at him for not taking her side.

"Dilated enough," Misha answered diplomatically.

"Enough is a unit of measurement now? Yes please, I'd like enough apples. Oh wait, I was going to make a pie as well. Make that enough and a half!" Her sarcasm faded as she gripped tight to Cullen's fingers. Maker's sake for being such a tiny woman she had the bone crushing grasp of a qunari.

"I really hate you right now," Lana breathed, her eyes screwed up so tight tears sprung from them.

"I know," Cullen answered, trying to wipe away the sweat and wishing it worked for her pain.

"Really, really, really hate you," she cried, the last of the contraction ebbing as she dug in to prepare for the next wave.

"I'm sorry," Cullen breathed, dropping his lips to her forehead.

Lana blinked, letting the last of the tears fall, and her bottomless eyes stared up into his. "I love you," she whispered, free of the pain for a breath.

"I know that too," he said.

"Maker's sake!" Lana screamed, "Not again!"

Misha sat up at that, her bird-like head whipping back as she peered down between Lana's legs. "That's way too fast. It's time to push."

"You think?" Lana gasped, clinging tight to her certainty and sarcasm. "Damn, damn, damning damn it!" Her game flooded away as Lana tried to bear down on herself.

"You're doing great," Cullen called, causing her to glare at him and make a motion with her head as if he should be the one being split open by their child. Maker take him, but Lana's angry sense of humor made him feel better.

"Hold a moment," Misha ordered.

"What...?" Lana stopped pushing, all but flopping back onto the bed. "What is it?"

Misha didn't answer, her fingers drifting deeper inside of his wife as she must have been reaching for their baby. _Sweet Maker, what now?_ They were both exhausted beyond measure, Lana barely clinging to the waking world after the torture her body put her under. Please, just let this be easy.

"Stop pushing!" Misha cried, startling both.

"I'm not!" Lana shouted back indignant, but under her breath he could hear the worry. She'd been careful to never use her magic save flipping the baby around while Cullen showed Misha where their privies were located. But now there may not be any option.

"Lana," Cullen skirted his forehead across hers to whisper in her ear, "heal yourself."

"I can't."

"We will deal with the fallout of her learning the truth later. Right now..."

"No, Cullen, I mean I can't do it. The pain, it's too much. I'm...gah!" She flinched hard, twisting her body to try and match whatever Misha was doing down below. Tears rattled in her eyes and she blubbered, "Middle of fights, torn apart by hurlocks and ogres, and now I'm...I can't even save my baby."

"Shh," Sweet Maker, what did he do to her? "It's okay, it'll be okay, we'll..."

"Boss?"

He whipped his head up to spot one of their hands, a good one whose name slipped from him in his panic, standing in the doorway. She was worrying her apron while staring at Lana twisting in pain. "What is it?" he prompted, shaking the girl away from his wife.

"It's Ser Derrik, he's having a fit."

"So calm him down," he tried to keep his voice level and not scream at her to do her job, but his skin was itching at how helpless he was to protect and save his wife. Someone had to pay.

The girl danced back and forth on her feet, "He won't, no one else can get him to. Please, there was an accident."

"Cullen," Lana drew her sweat soaked fingers against his cheek. "It's okay, I'm not going anywhere." A small laugh echoed in her words as she glanced down at her spread legs, "Go help him."

"Maker's sake, I..." He'd watched his wife all but raise mountains from the ground itself. Blights, darkspawn, demons, blood mages -- nothing slowed her down. But in this moment, with her normally dewy brown skin an ashen grey from over a day of pain as her tiny body clenched to finish this, Lana had never looked so frail to him.

"You can do it, Honey eyes. I have faith in you," Lana whispered. She foolishly guided his hand up to her lips and placed a kiss to it.

She was right. They gave of themselves to the people here and it was their job to help them. Cullen brushed his forehead against hers, and with shut tight eyes whispered, "I love you. And Maker's sake, stay safe." Her head nodded with his attached, when another contraction drove her to crumple up.

"Sweet Andraste," Misha sat up, grabbing onto Lana's arms, "not yet! Hold tight and don't push!"

"Ser?" the girl tugged on Cullen's sleeve as he stood slack watching the two women struggle against Lana's own body.

He had to turn away from her or he'd never leave, "Stay here, help where you can, Sam." The name came back to him once his vision wasn't filled with Lana in pain.

"I..." poor Sam blanched, the girl not one for blood. But she wasn't about to let down the heroic Commander of the Inquisition. "Yes, Ser. I will." Sliding around, Sam picked up Lana's hand and gave it a soft squeeze. Lana glanced over at the addition and smiled ironically at the slip of a girl telling her to breathe.

Cullen made it to the door when the midwife suddenly staggered up and bumped into his elbow. "Commander," Misha whispered, "if things do not progress well... There is a chance there may need to be a, well, choice."

"Lana," he made it without a second thought, turning back to watch his wife crumpling back into a ball while poor Sam tried to keep her from pushing. "Save my wife first."

Having issued the order, he turned and left the three women alone. _Maker, please don't let that be the last time I look upon her._ Outside the closed door, Cullen stared up at the afternoon sky. The last time he stepped away from her it was night. It felt as if both months and only moments passed since the labor began. Shaking off the terrified husband as best he could, Cullen marched to Derrik's room with a set to his jaw. Two of their male assistants stood outside, both speaking in the commanding but calm manner to try and talk down the old templar. He, sadly, was having none of it.

Derrik's haggard shoulder slammed into one of the strapping twenty something men from a local village, nearly laying the lad flat out. Luckily, Cullen was quick to catch him before there was any real damage. The move drew Derrik's eye and he snapped to attention. "Knight-Captain, Ser! These traitors were trying to impede me from my duty."

"It's all right, Ser Derrik," Cullen sighed. He patted the one boy's arm then tugged on Derrik's to drag him back into his room. The place was a disaster. It looked as if someone kicked apart the small bookcase in rage and then shattered a teacup. Slivers of broken clay and glass littered the floor. Cullen tried to step Derrik around it to help him to his bed.

"You need to rest," Cullen ordered.

"There's no time for that. The apostates are mounting a new defense off of the western district near the marketplace!" Derrik insisted. He tried to shake Cullen off, but the office he once held had more weight for the old templar.

"Derrik, there are no apostates here. You're safe. It's over," he tried to assure him. The man's eyes dipped down, the sparkle in them fading as a hint of reality slipped in over the lyrium's influence.

"Safe? But what about...? There was an attack on the chantry."

"The chantry is fine, it's okay. We handled it. You're okay," Cullen said, then his eyes wandered over to the side of Derrik's face. He'd been badly burned in an attack during the Kirkwall rebellion, leaving half of his face scarred, the flesh slopped and molded back onto the bones like half baked clay. Dripping across the cheek was a line of blood which the old templar seemed unaware of.

"Did you hurt yourself, Derrik?" he asked, turning around to find a small bandage kit in the end table drawer.

"I..." his fingers drifted up to his cheek and Cullen watched the sorrow return as he cupped the mutilated skin. It was hard to escape the memories of what created it, as hard as some templars tried. "I don't remember," Derrik whispered.

"It's all right, I can help." Focusing fully on the man staring wide eyed up at him, Cullen dabbed away the blood, cleaned the skin, and added a little blue bandage. "There," Cullen tried to smile at him, "good as new."

"Ser," the old templar's shaking hands reached over to grip Cullen's. He started at the realization his own were trembling the bloody washcloth. Derrik's striking blue eyes honed in on Cullen, "Are you injured?"

"No, Derrik. I'm fine."

"Then why are you crying?"

 _Maker's sake!_ He swiped at his cheeks to clear out the tears. This wasn't the time to be worrying about...

"Did the mages hurt you too?" Derrik whispered.

"They..."

Not again. He couldn't do this again. After all these years, everything they built together, their life. No. She was his heart, and to have her die because of... "They didn't," Cullen gasped out, trying to shake away his emotions, "There are no mages here, remember?"

"Right," the man nodded, "this is the abbey, with my old friends."

"Yes, now you should get some rest," Cullen said rising off the bed. The man nodded his head, swinging his legs up onto his mattress and stretching out. "I'll clean this up."

"We can get it, boss," one of the two men spoke up. "You should return to...um," they shared a look, both seeming to be scared to mention Lana by name. How many more whispered about the potential death of his wife? How many wondered if he was going to snap because of it?

He nodded his thanks, even as he felt his body slide away from him while he rose to his numb legs. The shell was the Commander who valiantly protected Haven and led the forces in the Arbor Wilds, but deep inside he was the trembling barely adult trapped in a tower full of demons. A hand snaked out from under the blankets and Derrik grabbed onto his. Blue eyes danced as he smiled, "Knight-Captain, may the Maker turn his gaze on you."

"And on you, Ser Derrik," he smiled, patting their clasped hands before letting go and walking back into their abbey.

It was his job to tend to the old templars clinging to life here. Cullen had the idea, but Lana...she was the one to make it work. Not only to acquire the land and brew up healing potions, but she taught him to be calmer. To cool his anger so he could help soothe the templars who'd lost too much of themselves to the song. He was the face, the old Commander who somehow became the emblem of what good the templars can do. But Lana, she was the heart here. Without her, nothing would work.

Without her, he wouldn't work.

Staggering outside their shared door, Cullen expected to hear screams of pain and shouts for her to either push or not push. Yet, nothing but the sweet song of birds cut through the air. Was this abbey that well insulated to be soundproof or...

Was he too late?

His hand froze upon the door handle, his body coming to a halt while his mind shattered. Maker, no. No, you cannot. Not after... Blessed Andraste, please, you're supposed to watch out for her, to...to save her.

The chance for a child was a foolish one, but Maker take him, he'd bought into it. He let himself hope for a little joy. But that wasn't Cullen's lot in this world. Every step he took towards happiness, the Maker's plan knocked him back another ten. The world bled him dry, wringing everything from him, as it took its thousand cuts but left him alive. Maker's sake, it already stole Lana once from him.

Please, don't do this.

Keep her here, where she belongs.

Damn the taint! Damn the Grey Wardens for filling her veins with that poison! Damn that curse of the Tevinter Magisters! If it weren't for their egotistical madness...

If it weren't for him. Lana accepted her fate, she sighed on occasion about the voices or missing a night of sleep, but faced the lone walk of the Calling head on. He was the one to push her, unable to imagine living out his end years here alone. If he hadn't been so selfish she never would have strived to solve it. She wouldn't have accidentally fallen pregnant and he'd have another ten years with her instead of...

No.

"Blessed Maker, I beg of you," Cullen folded to his knees, palms clasped as he turned his words beyond Andraste to the only power he thought could help, "give her your strength. You have before, you've let her work the impossible odds, miracles. She is your arm, a force for good upon this world. Please...please don't take her from me. I love her with everything inside of me, and I can't...I can't do it alone."

He felt the door begin to move, and Cullen scattered backwards, rising fast to his feet. Barely wiping away the tears in time, he stared down into the midwife's set face. Misha breathed slowly a moment, and then smiled, "Commander, you have a son."

"Lana?" he began to barrel past the woman with the news, praying for a miracle. Misha scrabbled to the side, her lips moving but the noise faded away as he stared over at the bed. Their bed, the one he'd made with his two hands for the only woman he dared love. Sitting propped up in it -- Lana's skin glistening with sweat and eyelids gently closed, curls of ebony hair tufted around her head like a halo -- she looked like an angel. A perfectly preserved angel.

Slowly, her eyes opened and a smile dawned on her face. _Sweet Maker!_ Cullen clasped a hand to his mouth, stumbling towards the woman who could never stop surprising him. "We have a boy," she whispered as he picked up her weary fingers. Warm, she was warm because she was alive. Cullen cupped her cheek next, then kissed those speaking lips. Alive and with him.

"Are you...?" he stuttered, afraid that she was clinging to life by a thread.

"I am well enough. Exhausted."

"Of course you are," he gasped, unable to stop the happy tears, "after all of that, and..."

"Commander," Misha's voice broke through his babbling and he turned over to her, "would you like to meet your son?" She stood beside the cradle he'd broken down and remade three times until it was just right. But it was further across the room and he didn't want to stop holding Lana tight, reminding himself she was alive.

His wife seemed to read his reluctance as she pressed her fingers against his cheek and sighed, "Go on."

Stumbling to shaking legs, Cullen stepped over towards the cradle. Perched inside of it was a small drawer he now recognized as having been yanked from their wardrobe. At his confused glare, Misha explained. "The child is too small for such a large bed. He'll have to sleep in there for awhile."

Cullen nodded dumbly as he watched the tiny baby stretched out upon its back cushioned by a thin throw pillow set inside the drawer. He'd never seen an infant that small before, it looked as if he could fit inside his palm. The skin was taut to fragile bones, stretched so tight he feared he could see the ribs through the mottled flesh. It was far lighter than Lana's beautiful shade, but darker than his. She'd assured him there was a good chance their baby would darken with time, but it was the spots covering the baby's stomach and his legs that drew great concern to him.

"Lana," he stuttered, staring down at the tiny thing barely kicking a leg. "Is he...?" Cullen turned back, "Can you feel...?"

"No," she shook her head, the happy sheen of recent motherhood fading at the fear in the air, "I sense no corruption."

"Thank the Maker," he gasped. Slowly, Cullen began to reach his fingers down to scoop his son up to his chest, but Misha snatched them away.

"The child is far too fragile right now. If you want him to survive, you're best off only handling him when strictly necessary."

"I..." He stared down at this being formed of their flesh inside of his wife, its tiny limbs rattling around in a new world, and in his heart he felt nothing. Shouldn't it be overflowing with love, or happiness? All he felt was gratefulness at Lana's survival and trepidation at what was to come next. What was wrong with him? The baby's mouth opened a bit, trying to suckle the air, and for a twinge Cullen wanted to run his finger over the tiny cheeks. But at a look from Misha he held himself back.

"We did it," Lana smiled at him. Maker she looked happy. As happy as the day they married. No, as happy as the day he plucked her out of the Grey Warden prison and brought her back into his life.

"You did it," Cullen said, "I was only here for support."

"Not to be interrupting," Misha said, "but the baby will need more blankets and clothing." At the moment all he had was one of Cullen's tunics swaddled around to keep from freezing to death.

"They're all in the...I'll go get them," he said, staggering out towards the door. Without the man in the way, Misha scooped up the drawer and hauled their son over to Lana. The gentle mother dipped down to her son and began to draw him closer to her breast.

A dark thought struck Cullen, a vision of Lana weeping openly as their far too small son's cold body pressed against her chest. He may not survive. He was so early. And it would kill her to lose him.

Barely aware of where he was going, Cullen left the door to their room open as he stumbled backwards from the horrifying thought. He didn't stop until a hand wearing very expensive rings clattered to his back. Turning around, Cullen blinked in shock for a moment at the familiar face before him.

"Good evening, Commander. I am here to help save your baby."


	12. Help

_1 week old..._

 

Her fingers paused above the thin chest as desperate cries erupted out of the far too tiny throat. Barely audible at first, after every session they grew stronger until they began to break against Cullen's mind. It felt like claws gouging his skin at how the baby wailed, reminding him with each shriek what little he had to offer in soothing the child. Vivienne tipped her coiffed head at the boy's wailing, then began again, white light warping around the drawer.

They set up shop in the nicest room in the abbey. After every feeding Lana was capable of, he'd bring the child to Vivienne and she'd cast some spell to help him grow stronger outside of the womb the way he should have in. The first night was the worst, both parents terrified that at any moment their baby would stop breathing. It took everything within Cullen to keep Lana from spending every moment drifting her fingers above her son's lips and nose to make certain he was still with them.

Vivienne waved off her magic and the jangle of her rings, or perhaps the lack of white light, caused the baby to stop crying. He seemed to be trying to stare up at this mystery woman beyond his narrow vision. "Your child began at nearly four pounds and thanks to my efforts is breathing normally and approaching a full five pounds. I'd say I've done all I can to help him reach what he should have inside his mother."

"Thank you, Madam de Fer," Cullen reached over grasping her hand and shaking it.

"Of course, Darling. I'm happy to assist," she stared down at the tiny baby. To Cullen's bleary eyes it didn't look as if the child had grown much at all. His skin was splotchy, though the ash gave way to a warm tan, his chest reedy, and the head shaped almost conical. Cullen was growing uncertain how anyone could find babies adorable.

"I admit, when I sent for assistance from the Circle I never anticipated you would be the one to answer it." Cullen tried both the Circle she established in Val Royeaux and the College. He knew the answer he'd get from the College, most angry that they didn't pith all the templars in their abbey, but he figured he'd give them a chance to surprise him. The Circle was his only hope.

Vivienne shifted her golden staff to her other hand and deftly smoothed down her silk dress. Deep into the Ferelden backwoods and she looked as if she belonged on an Orlesian ballroom, pressed and primed for it as always. "Dear Commander, after everything you did for thedas who else but the best would do for protecting and reviving your first born?"

"Yes," he sighed. Lana tried, he'd sense her magic dipping out of the fade for her son but Cullen insisted that she only focus on herself. The last thing they needed was her falling ill as well. Not that his logic would fully stop her, the mother secretly healing her child while also nursing him with her milk. Somehow her stubbornness lightened Cullen's heart; it meant she was still Lana.

"It is surprising how much of a resemblance the baby already bears to you," Vivienne said offhand. It threw him off. Either she was trying to be kind or cruel; it was always impossible to tell with her.

"Oh?"

"Forgoing the skin tone and lack of hair, which I imagine will come out black, that nose is clearly yours and I dare say the cheekbones as well as chin."

He couldn't see himself in the child, though he couldn't see Lana either. It was a baby, a very sick baby that he had to do all he could to keep alive. Sadly, it seemed even Cullen's meager usefulness was coming to an end if Vivienne truly considered her help no longer required. The child opened his eyes and waved his bunched fists around when another piercing wail erupted.

The mage shirked from it, digging her little finger into her ear at the noise. "It seems it is time to return him for dinner."

"I think you're right," Cullen agreed. Bending over, he hefted up the entire drawer in his arms. Maybe one day the baby could sleep in his cradle. "Let me drop him off with his mother and then I can see you to the gate. Give you my heartfelt gratitude once again."

He began to leave the guest room when Vivienne's fingers gripped to his strained arm. "I find myself curious if the mother doesn't require any magical assistance as well."

"Ah," Cullen blanched, "no, she's...she's healing well, just tired and...exhausted."

"Quite," Vivienne's eyes carved up and down Cullen, no doubt plumbing him for the lie but she released her grip. Carting his infant son about like the child was a roast stuffed into a drawer, he made it to the door, when the Enchanter remarked, "I am glad to hear that our dear Solona Amell is recovering from the birth. At her age it can be quite an ordeal."

Cullen froze, his shoulders tightening as he felt the threat rising in the air. Anyone else, even while clinging to his son, he'd have tossed out on their ass, but Vivienne was smart and crafty. If she was tipping her hand it was either because she wanted something or was going to in the future. "How...?"

"Commander," she touched her hand to her breast, "not all of us are fooled by longer hair, a slower gait, and avoiding a title. I may have only met the Hero of Ferelden once, but it's enough to stick. We mages don't all look alike."

At her little joke Vivienne's always on point sneer dropped and she dipped her head, "You are doing much for the order, after what was taken from them. As I understand it, you both are, the Lady Amell included. I have no intentions of dishonoring you, nor your wife's good work. As some of the lesser cretins who ran in our menagerie of accomplices in the Inquisition would say, 'my lips are sealed.'"

"Thank you," he breathed, tipping his head down to her.

He began to close the door, but Vivienne of course had to have the last word. "It is rather humorous though. Out of all the mages in southern thedas, the only one surrounded day after day by templars is the Hero of Ferelden."

Trying to shake off the fear that Lana's secret was spoiled beyond measure, Cullen carried their son into their bedroom. If it became an issue it was one they could solve later. She had a child now, it wasn't as if...

Cullen blanched at the memory of how many babies had been taken from mothers in the towers. Unexpected, considered unwanted, they passed to Sisters and Mothers in the chantry, no one knowing if the children made it past their first night. He'd forgotten that part, few turning to the Knight-Captain to handle such matters. But when Lana would wake from a nap in a fury to get back her baby from the templar that took him, the shame fell harder upon Cullen. No, as much as he wanted to pretend it was so, as long as Lana was a mage she was never truly safe, nor their family.

He shook off the dour thoughts and put on a smile while walking into their room. Sorting through a series of far too large pajamas upon the table beside the window, Lana looked up at the sound. "Good morning," she called in her breathy voice, her fingers waving softly to her baby. She kissed tightly to Cullen's cheek as he returned the drawer to the cradle, then she carefully scooped the baby into her arms.

While the crying shushed a moment against his mother's warm skin, Cullen said, "I have good news. Vivienne's given him a clean bill of health."

"Did you hear that?" Lana cooed to the baby trying to suck upon her shoulder. "You're so strong, getting stronger every day."

"Just like his mother," Cullen whispered, placing a kiss to her forehead.

She smiled warmly at that, then the motherly cocoon snapped off in an instant, "Did Madam de Fer say anything else? I imagine the Circle's sniffing around here hoping to scoop up some templars. I swear to the Maker if they try to put them back on the lyrium leash..."

"Lana," he soothed, "I kept her far from the templars. She preferred the solitude of her room for the trip."

"Good," she nodded, then flinched as their son began a fresh round of crying. "I think someone's getting hungry."

"I'll go help to see Vivienne off," Cullen slid away as she let down the strap on her nightgown.

She was fumbling to get the baby lined up, the exhaustion evident in her movements. He wanted to rush over and help her to a chair or the bed, but...he had no idea if that was what was needed. Shaking his head, he retreated to the door.

"Cullen," Lana called out, looking up from the tiny mouth sliding across her nipple, "it'll be okay."

"I know," he nodded.

The baby was getting healthier, Lana was on the road to recovery. They'd survived it. Everything went well and he should be ecstatic.

Why did he feel nothing but dread nestling in his heart?

 

* * *

 

 

It didn't take him long to get Vivienne secured with her caravan. She seemed as eager to remain in the 'rustic backwoods' as much as Lana wanted her here. Cullen thanked her again, truly meaning it. Without her, he doubted he could have stopped Lana from overexerting herself over what could have been a lost cause. If he'd lost both of them in the same night...

Dust trailed down the road away from the abbey traveling with Vivienne's departure and he stood enraptured watching it. The rising eastern sun caught so it glittered like flecks of gold through the amber sky. Soon the entire abbey would be humming with people, and he'd have to take control to make certain medicines were doled out, chores finished, and the other day to day problems handled. He had an infant son, barely a week into this world, clinging to his mother, and yet Cullen couldn't stop staring at the horizon.

Why was it so fascinating to him? He'd stared out through these woods hundreds of times before, often while dumping off garbage, or facing a long road of traveling. It's not as if... He blinked, then rubbed his eyes and tried again. Vivienne's dust wasn't fading into the sunlight. In fact, it seemed to be picking up speed and heading back to where it began. Cullen barely had time to slide back in, much less shout out, "We have company incoming," when a horse clattered up the base of the hill.

He didn't recognize the bay, and there was no banner flying. Cullen was at a loss until he spotted the far too familiar and far too long scarf knotted tight around white, once blonde hair. "Mia!" he cried, dashing forward for his sister before she even had time to stop her horse much less dismount.

"Whoa, stop you bucket of oats. I swear to the... Baby brother!" she called, sliding down off the horse and catching him in a hug.

"How in Andraste's name did you get out here so quickly?" he asked, grateful to see his sister here.

"Maker's sake, you two do make life a challenge. I was all ready to be heading out in two weeks time and here comes this little birdie flitting through my window." Her easy smile faded as she stared into Cullen's eyes, "How is...?"

"We have a boy," he filled in quickly.

"Sweet Andraste, you know you should open with that. Hi, hi, we have a baby boy, and he's..."

"Healthy," Cullen caught on again, causing Mia to sigh and pat her chest, "small, very small."

"That early it's no surprise. How's Lana?" She reached up towards her bag across the saddle, but the taller Cullen snatched it off first.

"Tired, it...things didn't quite go as planned," he turned deeper into himself, thinking back upon the torturous hours raising up the fear of losing her.

"No kidding, a month early isn't exactly planned. But, you have a baby boy, and they're both doing well, so it's..." His sister's jubilation paused as she caught the tremble in Cullen's hands. "What is it? There's something else, isn't there?"

He hadn't been able to tell anyone else. No one in the abbey knew about Lana's past, nor would they truly understand the implications of her being a Warden. And she was under enough strain, dwelling upon it with her would be cruel. Sucking in a hard breath, he said, "It's returned. The taint."

"Oh no," Mia placed her hand to her mouth.

"More than likely that was what triggered the birthing process, her body saving the baby from it."

"And the boy...?" She dug her fingers into his arm, trying to wring the truth quickly from him.

Cullen shook his head, "Lana says he's clean of it. I believe her because I think she tests every second he's in her arms. But she's..." He was going to lose her. One day the vile corruptness in her veins would turn upon her, drain her life until she was little more than a thinking ghoul, and he'd lose her to the deep.

"Cullen," Mia swiped her hands around his side and tugged him to her for a half hug, "it'll be okay. She'll find a solution again. You know how wicked smart your wife is."

"Right," he nodded, not feeling the darkness lift off his heart, "smart."

"Now, tell me how cute your son is. I assume adorable and the spitting image of his mother."

"He's a...a baby?" Cullen shrugged, uncertain how to answer.

Luckily he had Mia here to correct him, "No, no, anytime someone asks or tells you your child is cute you say yes, thank you, he gets it from his mother."

"What if the child isn't adorable?"

She glared hard at him, "Are you saying your son isn't cute?"

"No! I...I'm only wondering what to do in the even that..."

His terrified babble faded at Mia's laughter, "Don't worry, brother. I'll get it beaten into your head a few days into this trip that every baby is cute, especially yours."

"Wonderful," he sighed, rolling his eyes. Chuckling at her baby brother's misfortune, Mia playfully punched into his arm. "Mi," he whispered, "I'm glad you're here."

"Me too, I wouldn't miss watching you change a diaper for anything."

 

* * *

 

As Cullen vanished out the door, Lana tried to re-position her son. He kept getting close to latching on but at the last moment would abandon sucking in order to cry. Every tiny wail dug deeper into her skin. "Come on," she groaned. Her legs were barely functional, her hips jelly after the birth. She managed to slide a few feet here and there but was confined to this tiny room. Glancing at the chair beside the window, Lana shook her head and sat down upon the bed.

It sunk in deeper from her weight, the surprise causing her to juggle the baby further away from her breast. Not that it mattered much as, despite his empty stomach, he seemed to be of no mood to eat.

"Don't be that way," Lana chastised, trying once again. She watched the tiny lips that would one day become nearly as plump as hers suckle upon her for a moment. "There you go," she sighed, thankful to have the pressure lifting from her groaning chest. It was going to be okay. Everything would be...

The baby sputtered, his mouth slipping off as her milk sprayed first across his cheek then dribbled down into the blanket. Unhappy at the mess he made, he began to wail even harder. "Maker's sake!" Lana cried back. "You have to eat!" She tried to take a calming breath, but it wasn't taking.

All she could see was her son, her far too fragile and tiny son screaming at her for letting him starve. Tiny tears dribbled against his cheeks which she matched in kind. "I'm sorry," she pleaded, trying to get him to latch but he was having none of it now. Far too emotional and raw, all Lana could do was hold him up and cry, "You're too small. You need food to...it's my fault. It's all my fault."

He cried along with her, the tears washing away all of her milk he refused. And why shouldn't he refuse her? Her body nearly killed him. All the poison in her blood could have choked his tiny body out. Was it any wonder he hated her?

"I'm sorry, I never thought that'd happen. It's my doing. My fault. Please..." She was begging and pleading with a one week old baby, but he held all the cards. "Please, eat. Get stronger. I need you to..."

Tears streaming down her cheeks, the sobs racking up her throat, she glanced away from the baby at the sound of the door opening. Cullen walked in first, "You'll never guess who...Lana?"

"Oh," she spotted the familiar face of his sister sliding in behind. Throwing on a smile, she tried to wipe away her tears while juggling the still screaming infant. "Mia, you, um, came at a..."

The mother of three stared over once, shoved her bag at her brother, then dashed to the bedside. "Troubles latching?" She sized up the problem in an instant.

Lana nodded her head, shame burning her cheeks. "He doesn't always but, but sometimes..."

"Shh," Mia waved away another round of tears. "They get little minds of their own. I know a few tricks. Here," she grabbled onto Lana's fingers and slowly drew them higher up under her son's head. "Sometimes they like to be up like this. My middle child, truly demon-sent, would only suckle like she was standing. Maker only knows."

"I should leave you two to it," Cullen interrupted. "You'll get it well in hand." He stood uncertain in the doorway, the bag in his arms.

Mia shot a questioning glare at her brother, but Lana smiled at him, "There's a lot to do today."

He softened a moment, then smiled, "Isn't there always? I'll be back soon." Closing the door behind him, Cullen left the two women to try and find just right the position to appease their picky boy.

It took a few more jabs into her son's cheeks before the screaming mouth caught on that it should try suckling instead. Lana held her breath, hoping he wouldn't turn his head and spit it out, but it seemed to be taking.

"There ya go, seems he's got the hang of it now," Mia encouraged. She sat back onto the chair beside the bed and crossed her legs.

"Yeah," Lana gulped, her eyes burning from the salt that kept streaking down her cheeks. "No matter how badly I fail, he..."

"Hey, hey," Mia drew her hand down Lana's arm, trying to soothe her. "You're doing great here. None of it's easy, but it can be good. Fun sometimes."

She turned over to her sister-in-law and tried to smile. While her heart sang with joy, especially as her son's belly filled with her milk, a cloud kept creeping over her thoughts.

Happy. She was supposed to be happy. She was happy. Her son lived, she lived. It was a good turn of events, even if...

"That one's quite the gorger, huh?" Mia smiled, her eyes upon the child suckling like no tomorrow. His tiny fist wrapped safely inside a pair of pajama mittens landed upon Lana's breast as if he wished to pump even more into his growing belly.

With a finger curling down his warm cheek, she sighed, "He has a lot to make up for."

"How are you doing?" Mia turned the tables on her.

Cullen's sister was close enough like him that they'd often find themselves at odds, but different enough they didn't fall into all out war. She was the leader of the family, stern but kind, with an unbendable will. He'd joke that if Mia and Lana ever came to different sides of a cause all of thedas would sunder in half. Funny enough, it hadn't happened yet.

"Tired," Lana admitted, "but happy."

"Feel like an ogre ripped you in half?" Mia laughed, a shine glinting off her smile. She had a rare streak of orneriness in her soul that seemed to pass by most other Rutherfords.

"Maker, yes. Sitting is...cumbersome. And I fear in those first few days I changed my diaper as often as his," Lana groaned, grateful that the blood and chunks dripping out of her had slowed. Her little boy released off her nipple and he smacked his lips as if to give gratitude to the chef for a fine meal. For a brief window he opened his eyes, a flare of thick black eyelashes highlighting a burst of amber.

"Good morning to you, too," Lana cooed, her son falling quickly to sleep with a warm meal inside him. He only managed to stare a few times at nothing before fading back down.

"Maker's breath," Mia shifted closer, "he's adorable. And, fair warning, but I fear he's going to be the spitting image of his father."

"Oh?" Lana lifted an eyebrow as if she was surprised, but in truth, she began to suspect.

"Every Rutherford baby I've seen starts out like that. Tiny and thin, but those fat rolls will come in in a few months along with the curls. Then out pops the nose and no doubt he'll be lecturing you with his chubby little arms crossed."

Lana laughed at the vision, "I was more or less prepared for that eventuality." She circled her hands under her son's warm back and bent over to brush her lips to his forehead. Smooth and soft, she barely touched it while whispering, "I was hoping for it."

A little copy of Cullen, duskier mind you. Her blood always had some say in those matters. But with that serious turn, and those blazing eyes, and sense of doing what was right even if it cost him, was there any reason to hope for something else?

Blinking away her motherly haze, she glanced over at Mia. "Would you like to hold the baby?"

"I hoped you'd ask," she smiled wide, greedy to swoop an infant into her arms. "Maker, I forgot how this felt. Hits ya right in the...well, everywhere. You never want to leave them." Her fingers shifted away the blanket covered in rounded mabari to stare down at the boy's face. Exhausted, his little bow lips whiffled a breath in sleep, the eyelashes so long they skirted over the tops of his cheeks.

"Figured out what you're going to call him?" Mia asked.

"There's tradition," Lana shifted on her haunches. While she'd not cared much for it, given the circumstances of his birth and the fact Cullen didn't seem to want to actively discuss it, she fell back to that.

"Oh, tradition. Sure," Mia nodded. People scared of growing attached to a child not bound long for the world turned that into a game, a special day. No one named the child until it'd been a few weeks, or a month, or they were certain it would survive. Not everyone followed it, though name-days were still celebrated across Ferelden because traditions had to be honored and cake needed no real reason.

"But," Mia continued, the boy easily cradled in her arms. "I always had a secret name I called mine before it was the big day. You can't not. Callin' 'em baby and boy all the time's weird. Especially if you have a much bigger baby stomping around."

Lana caught on that she was referring to her husband and by proxy Lana's husband as well. "Cullen's not acting up, he's...very busy. We hadn't planned on this coming so soon and there were a lot of matters in the abbey left to attend to."

"Alright," Mia nodded her head to the exhausted mother, "but if he steps out of line for a moment."

"I'm certain his big sister will knock him back into place," Lana smiled. Leaning back, she felt the allure of sleep calling to her. Would it be so bad to close her eyes for a moment?

As if reading her thoughts, Mia's voice dropped to a whisper, "Go on ahead and rest up. I can keep track of this little one for you. They don't move very far at this age."

"Thank you. And thank you for coming out here to help."

Before closing her eyes for a nap, Lana watched Mia cup her nephew's cheek and smile in return. "You're family, family looks out for family. And, don't worry, Lana. You're a good mother."

Maker, how she wished that were true.


	13. The Whole World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The awesome image at the end was drawn by the wonderfully talented [Space_Aged](http://voidtakeyou.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Everyone tell her how amazing she is.
> 
> And for the Alistair fans, next week is when their festivities begin.

Ten days old...

 

Cullen was glad to have Mia out to help Lana as she adjusted to this new life of being a mother. He was, however, less than thrilled to have his eldest sister poking her nose into matters that didn't concern her. She was a professional in such things, the family busybody who knew everyone's business whether they wished her to or not. Even his leaving for templar training didn't stop Mia from learning secrets about Cullen's rather secluded life he didn't want a soul to know. In retrospect, it was rather amazing how long he kept his love of Lana out of Mia's all seeing eye.

For the past few days she'd been at Lana's side, often helping to change the baby and assist in feedings. The pair of them seemed to have a good handle on things, leaving Cullen even more uncertain of what to do. He made it a priority to check on his wife and son during the day, always getting a smile from Lana. The boy's reaction tended to depend upon if he'd eaten recently or not. And all the while there was this glare from Mia. He doubted Lana caught it, she was far too busy and hadn't grown up with the woman.

Whatever was eating up his sister, he knew he'd hear about it sooner or later. If Cullen had it his way, she'd shout it while on the horse ride back to her home near South Reach. Shaking off the thoughts, he dug the shovel deeper into the ground. They'd been putting off digging a new latrine hole for far too long. It felt good to be outside doing something even as the winter winds chilled his skin. The exercise warmed his bones back up while he took a crack at breaking into somewhat frozen earth.

Honor huffed from beside him. The old girl did not approve of this newest mewling thing in her home. Luckily, she knew how to bat her eyes and find comfort in the other warm beds around the abbey. Last he heard she was sharing a room with one of the old templars from Nevarra who adored dogs. "You know you should be over here helping," Cullen said to his dog. She didn't rise from her position upon a blanket she swiped off a bed, but the stub of a tail wagged at the attention. "Aren't dogs supposed to be excellent diggers?"

"Cullen!" A voice shattered the frost bitten air and he turned over his shoulder to catch what he'd feared was coming. Mia looked as if she could spit fire, her face knotted into true Rutherford rage.

"Here it comes," he groaned, turning back to the hole as he plunged the shovel head deeper in.

"Will you blighted look at me...?!" Her fury was cut short by the sound of a tiny voice yawning in chirps from her arms.

At that he spun on his heels and glared down at the peek of brown flesh hidden between piles of furs. "For the Maker's sake, what are you doing with him out here?! It's freezing!"

"What are you doing out here?" she turned on him.

Cullen gripped tighter to the shovel, more aware of the cold than he had been for the past two hours. "Working," he grumbled, a mix of shame burning up his gut.

"Working? That's your excuse. The middle of winter and you suddenly have to dig a hole. By Andraste's grace, this is your son. Your baby boy," she jostled the child as if he suddenly forgot that fact.

"I'm well aware," he said, both hands wringing tight around the shovel's staff.

"Three days and I haven't seen you pick him up once. Carry him. Hold him. Not even talk to him!" She all but batted the shovel out of Cullen's hands and then dropped the baby into them.

 _Maker's sake!_ He scrambled quickly, trying to tuck the pile of blankets and somewhere in there his infant son tight into his arms. "Are you mad?" he gasped, terror clinging to his tongue.

"Yes, white-hot spitting mad. What in the void is wrong with you?" She reached over and flicked a finger against his head. "This is your child. Yours! You made him, but you walk around as if he just got dropped off on your doorstep by a kindly old mama wolf."

"I..." He heard a little squeal not of pain but not exactly happy either from deep within the blankets. Like carrying a load of towels, Cullen locked his hands tight under the baby and stood at attention. He had no idea what he was doing, but prayed he didn't do any damage.

"Your wife needs you, your son needs you." Mia was a good head shorter than him, but in her rage she browbeat Cullen down until he was staring up at her. "But no, all you do is smile at her, then vanish off for the day to dig holes into frozen dirt."

"Mi, you don't understand," he struggled around the words lodged in his throat. The ones he knew he should never speak aloud but couldn't escape.

"Understand what? That all of a sudden my baby brother's become a lazy arsehole? Cause that ain't what Mom raised you to be, I know that much. Dad would skin you alive for the shit you're pulling right now."

A sliver of tears bounded in his eyes at the memory of their long gone parents while he held his own progeny in his hands. "It's not that. I can't take care of him, okay."

"Why? Why in all of thedas can't the father take care of the son he created?"

"Because I don't love him," Cullen whispered, his breath spurting out in puffs of smoke on the wind. Each one shook, revealing his failures as a father, as a husband, and as a man.

Mia's mouth dropped open in shock, but then she rolled her eyes and shouted, "So the fuck what? This isn't about love, it's responsibilities! It's duty to your kin, and that's your kin right there in your arms."

The baby began to coo and Cullen tugged back the flap of a blanket to reveal a bit more of his cheek. For the first time, he dared to let his finger slide against the tiny nub. It was so warm and soft. A blast of winter air erupted through the stones, causing the baby to switch to wailing from the cold.

 _Maker's breath. See!_ He wasn't meant for this. He failed at every turn. All he could do was reap misery.

He began to hand the baby back to Mia to soothe, but she folded her arms tight and shook her head, "No. You figure it out."

"I...fine!" He had no idea what to do beyond a few memories of the other recent mothers who'd paced around the abbey. It wasn't as if templars had a lot of children running around in the Circle. The baby was cold so cover him. He slipped the blanket back over but that only increased the wailing. Blighted hell, what did this kid want? Feeling another chill dancing up his hand, Cullen had an idea. Perhaps it was stupid, most likely it was, but he wiggled his hand in between the blanket and pressed it against his son's chilled face.

It took a few more wailing cries but as his warmth passed to his son, they slowed until the baby began to coo once again. "That tiny they don't _need_ love right now. They need to be kept warm, they need food, and they need safety," Mia said. "You can do that. It's pretty much what you do for everyone else around here."

"I'm sorry," he breathed to the boy he wished was in his heart. Was Cullen so truly broken he couldn't let another in? "Why," he tried to shake away the shame on his head. "Why don't I...?"

His sister sighed and shook her head, "I don't know why right now. But it'll happen. Most likely you will come to love your son. It might take a few days, or could be years. You might not like him until he's talking or swinging a sword. Things ain't...it doesn't always go in a straight line. For the love of the Maker, what am I doing comforting you? You're a right pain in the ass sometimes, you know that."

"I'm far from the only one in the family," Cullen chuckled.

Mia ignored the barb, his sister clearly having more on her mind. "Take over, before Lana gets any worse."

"Worse?" Panic gripped tight to Cullen's negligent throat, "What do you mean? I thought she was healing well. The draughts and spells..."

"Her body maybe, but her soul... Do you ever look at her smile? Her eyes? How much she's crying when no one's looking?"

 _Oh no._ Cullen drew the baby tighter to his arms as he dashed across the yard and up the stairs. The darkness. He'd not considered its return a possibility. While he'd been laboring under the strain of feigning love for the baby it was obvious that Lana was deliriously enraptured with their son. She cared beyond words for him, but... Maker's sake, man, you know love doesn't cure _that_.

Rather than politely knock, he barreled through their bedroom door. Lana sat in the darkness of the drawn curtains perched upon the bed. Her head was hanging down as she clung white knuckled to the rumpled blanket. The first sob struck Cullen harder than any shield to the nose could.

"Lana," he whispered her name, easing slowly into the room.

She tried to mop the tears away, all the ones he chose to not see, then turned back with the fake smile. "There you are," her voice wandered until nearly ending in a question mark. "Both of you, I see," the smile lifted a bit at the sight of her son trying to peer out from the blankets, but it wasn't enough.

Cullen scooted onto the bed, one hand clinging tight to the baby while the other drew back her hair. His palm skidded across salt crusted to her cheeks. How many tears had she been shedding in private?

"How bad?" he asked.

"No, it..." she instantly tried to shake him away, her lips knocking about like waves on the sea while she tried to pin a smile on. It wasn't going to take. "I'm fine."

"Lana, please. You have to tell me. I...I should know." He cursed at himself for missing so many obvious signs, "Is it as bad as the night at my sisters?"

"No," she shook her head and clung tighter to her arms. He noticed the welts rising off the skin where she'd been digging in deeper and deeper as a distraction. "Worse."

Softly he cupped his hand against her cheek and she pressed into it much the same as their boy had. "Is it worse than when you twisted your ankle?"

His beautiful wife struggled to speak, but the tears returned. All she could do was nod. Worse than her being laid up in bed for two weeks? The physical pain always made the darkness more pronounced, but this...

A fear squeezed against his throat and Cullen's lips breathlessly moved. He had to ask it, had to know, but Maker did he not want to. "Lana..." He scooted closer to her and her fingers reached over as if to take their baby, but Cullen didn't let go, he was focused fully on her. "Is this as bad as when you," he swallowed and began again, "as when you took the Calling?"

Her head tried to shake it away like a buzzing in her ear, but after a few rounds she gasped and nodded. "Yes. Yes, I'm so sorry. I don't..."

"Shh," he guided his arm around her head and tugged it tight to his shoulder. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

"I do, I'm wrong. Terrible. It shouldn't be," tears dripped through her words, her fingers clinging tight to his collar while the other hand rolled across her son.

"No, you're not," Cullen insisted in a whisper. He turned his head and bellowed out, "Mia! Come here."

It didn't take long for his sister to appear, her face white as she spotted Lana's crumbling. "Take the baby," he instructed. She pursed her lips and folded her arms, until he groaned, "I have to sit with Lana, okay. I'll come and take him back from you after she's better."

Mia stared over at the woman burying her soaking face into Cullen's shoulder. "Alright," the stern lecturer faded into gooey aunt as she scooped the baby into her arms. "I'll be waiting in that done up sitting room you have."

He nodded his thanks and, as the door closed behind, turned to wrap both arms around his wife. After a few more cascades of sobs dripped down his chest, he asked softly, "Did you hurt yourself?"

"No," she said. There was a chance she was lying from the pain but he couldn't see any evidence and it seemed as if the facade was peeled off. Lana was a pro at hiding her turns from the others in their refuge, but he begged her to always let him see everything.

"Come here," Cullen scooped her into his arms and slowly pulled her down to lay together side by side upon the bed. It felt like ages since he'd had her in his arms like this. For her sake and the baby's he'd been dozing in open beds when necessary, letting the two of them get their sleep uninterrupted. Andraste, he was an ass.

"I'm...I should be happy. That's what good mothers are. Happy. Why am I not? I want him. So bad it hurts. But..."

He stared into her red rimmed eyes running over with more tears. It was a soul crushing sight, and all of his doing. He should have been there for her. Really looked at her and known. For the love of the Maker, he was her husband. It was his duty to keep her safe. "Lana, we can beat this back. It's not your fault you're not happy right now."

"I want to be," she gasped. "Why can't I be happy?"

Cullen pulled her to his chest hoping it would soothe her as he ran his hands back through her piles of hair. There were so many snarls and knots it was going to take hours to get them out with their pick. How much did he let rot away from his lagging care? Nestled deep to him, Lana's sobs slowed and her hands tugged tight to his back.

He placed a kiss to the top of her head and promised, "You'll be happy again. I swear it to you."

It was an hour or so of Lana sobbing and Cullen reassuring her before she fell into the rest she desperately needed. Mia glared at him for taking so long, but when he picked up his son she lightened a bit. "Lana's sleeping right now, but please stay with her. Watch her. Right now she can't be alone long."

"Why?"

"It's..." She wouldn't understand. Sometimes it was hard for Cullen to voice it even as he felt the same dark forces tug upon the strings in his head. They never plucked hard enough to drive him to end his life but the reverberations were there. "It's good for her to have a friend. And after her nap, I'll come in with the baby and we can all sit together."

"You swear?" Mia glared.

"On great gulf cavern," he said, thinking back to what was little more than a hole in the ground on their old farm the Rutherford children considered sacred.

His sister took that oath seriously and dipped her head. "Very well. But if you break it...!"

"I will be ripped apart by darkspawn and have my bones ground up to make their evil stews. I know, I know. Please, go sit with Lana," he shooed his sister out trying to appear certain in everything. When Mia vanished he collapsed to the chair.

With his infant son perched in his lap, Cullen sucked in a breath of air that was made of broken glass. Every pang jabbed deeper inside of him as he felt the failure of what he was erupt off his skin. Come and read across his flesh the charges written in his own blood of the man who could not face his infant son, who nearly drove his wife to the darkness. Who in thinking he could have it all, nearly lost everything because he was too weak to open his heart.

A soft cry erupted from the blankets, and Cullen rose out of his lean. He sponged off a handful of the tears sheeting across his vision in order to see his son properly. Eyes the same soulful shade as the ones who'd begged him to make her happy blinked up at him. They couldn't focus yet but they seemed to be trying to find him. Gently, Cullen curled his hand to the boy's cheek.

"I'm here. Your father's here."

 

* * *

 

 

Flurries of never ending work, from one problem to the next, on occasion broke to the realization that an entire day had passed. Cullen was barely able to count the hours as he dashed from tending to Lana to taking over with the baby. There was sleep; the man sometimes starting out of a dream in terror that he'd passed out while holding his son in his arms. But glancing over, he'd find the boy curled up in his little drawer, his eyes shut tight in sleep. With this little life resting upon his hands Cullen felt the overbearing need to protect his son, but...

While he soothed Lana's cheek and insisted there was nothing wrong with her, he couldn't stop turning the question back upon himself. Why was his heart cold? It wasn't as if he was incapable of love. It nearly destroyed him when he lost Lana, the pain unimaginable and the joy of her return brighter than anything he'd ever thought possible. How was it easy for him to love this other woman outside of him, a mage no less, but his own son eluded him?

It didn't matter, Mia was correct. Love or no, the baby needed him and with some minor corrections and the occasional biting of her tongue Cullen began to assemble the skills necessary. While Lana nursed their son to satiety, he'd sit quietly beside her tugging back her hair or sometimes holding her book until the baby got positioned right. After that, when she needed a break to rest and rebuild strength, Cullen would rock the baby back to sleep as best he could. There were diaper changes, so many it became a blur.

Once, when he reached the end of the clean basket, bleary eyed and twitching from the crying, he gave up on sanity and folded one of his own tunics around the baby's bottom. Mia naturally found it hilarious, his sister taking the load down to their launders which was something he should have thought of before. Perhaps exhaustion was finally breaking him too.

Cullen only took a reprieve from his son in order to tend to the templars that responded to the old Knight-Captain and no other. It was strangely refreshing to ask someone to stop fidgeting or crying and have them comply. They'd been having issues with one woman, whom he remembered being strict and ice cold even before the lyrium rot took hold. Now she brooked no truck with anyone, making certain none could ever like her and reveling in it.

That was what he left behind, a thousand tongue lashings clinging to his skin, as he walked exhausted back to the room. He barely opened the door when the ever increasingly powerful wail of his son walloped his weary ears.

"Here!" The body full of five pounds of human wrath dropped into his hands and Mia shrieked, "You take him."

"What's the matter?" he asked, trying to rock his boy back and forth but the screams wouldn't stop. Great tears rose up from those amber eyes to streak down sienna cheeks.

"I have no blighted idea. He's fed, he's changed. He's angry. He's been angry for nigh on an hour now and nothing's changed it."

"Lana?" he asked, glancing around to see his wife was missing.

"Is off in her potion's room," Mia assured him. "Had something to brew up or think upon. I don't know, she rattled off a lot of fancy words then dropped this banshee into my arms."

Even with the screams shredding apart his eardrums, Cullen chuckled at the description of his wife. "What should I do?" he asked the only experienced one, but even hardened Mia looked frazzled after a week with the newborn.

"Go, take him somewhere and wait for it to pass!" she cried back, her fingers rubbing tight to her temples. "This headache will never leave me," she grumbled and Cullen did as commanded.

The night's crisp air struck him as he passed out into the open winter. Pressing his son tighter to his chest, he was rewarded from protecting him against the cold by wails reverberating up through his ribs. "And to think we worried you would be too frail," Cullen chuckled to himself, but it was a mirthless laugh. If this wore away his sister, what chance did he have? Swallowing down both the fear and rising annoyance that wasn't truly the baby's fault, he slipped into the guest room that accidentally became the baby's room.

It was never meant to be. They'd had plans to keep him in theirs until such a time another opened up and he could have a proper nursery. But with Lana needing sleep to recuperate and the boy requiring healing, this quickly became the place for the child. Blankets, diapers, and little pajamas were left in piles upon what had been finely crafted tables meant to hold fruit baskets. The fire in the hearth never died down, every hand in the place always checking to chuck another log on, even if no one was using it. They all knew eventually someone would wind up in there with the squealing and unhappy baby.

"Shh..." Cullen groaned, beginning to feel the same pinch Mia did. He twisted his boy around until the tiny chest pressed against his. With one hand cupping the back of his head, Cullen began to gently pat his butt while swaying back and forth. It was pretty much all he had and, of course, it wasn't working. The tears came faster, his son's tiny throat sounding rawer with every cry, but nothing could stop it.

This too shall pass.

Maker, how many times did he have to recite that while staring down the dead eyed sneer of an apostate? Grumble it to himself as he wiped off a mud ball and struggle to not drag the apprentice to the dungeon for a slight offense? Press it against his clasped palms as the demon's fingers crawled through his mind in the middle of the night?

There was always tomorrow. He was someone who made certain of it with every breath, but... Maker, the darkness before the dawn was often impenetrable. They hadn't talked about his anger much, not in any recent years. Lana knew of it certainly, knew of how sharp it became when he was pressed. But he thought it'd cooled over the years; time, distance, and perhaps age allowing him to walk back from the tortured man of his past. How wrong he was.

Every cry etched across his mind like a nail slicing his eyeball. He flinched, trying to wash it all away clean with a soft prayer but his son would sputter and then wail even louder. 

Sweet Andraste, make the baby stop!

Suddenly, the cries halted, and -- in a spray of good fortune -- a cascade of spit-up splattered against his shoulder. His son urped a few more times, Cullen realizing he should have tried to catch it all before it dribbled down his chest, but what did it matter? His shirt was already stained.

"For the love of..." he growled, all but snapping at anything in his way. The baby's wet, sticky vomit crawled further down his shoulder leaving a disgusting trail upon his skin. Abandoning any hope he had, Cullen placed his son down into the second drawer they'd made up for him and began to unbutton his shirt.

He got down a few when the baby's cries renewed. "What?" he shouted. "This is your doing. I will pick you back up when I have...Fine!" Despite the insanity of it all, he scooped his son into one arm and with the other pried apart his shirt. It was even more maddening to try and wiggle the stained thing off his arms while switching the baby from one to the other.

But, blessed Andraste, at least he stopped crying.

Heaving his shirt into the basket along with the continual rash of filthy laundry, Cullen slipped his hands around his son's waist and pulled the baby up to his eyes. The bobbing head rested back upon his fingertips while he stared into his boy's face. When the toothless mouth opened, Cullen braced for more screaming, but a series of adorable chirps broke instead. With the agony of an unhappy dinner in his stomach past, he seemed fine.

"Thank the Maker," he sighed, grateful that the break seemed to be holding. Cullen began to slide his son back down to a more comfortable position when suddenly those always vaguely uncertain eyes narrowed right down upon him. He blinked, certain he'd imagined it, but with a curious determination his son's eyes crossed as if they were focusing right upon the end of his father's nose.

"Do you find that funny?" he asked, chuckling at the idea. "That's the Rutherford nose, you know." Tucking his son's face against his naked shoulder, Cullen let the warmth of his body pass to his boy. While the fleece pajamas covered in little fluffy griffins were doing wonderful at keeping the boy protected from winter, something in his father's body heat did a greater job of bringing on sleep. Those cheeks rounding with every day stretched wide as his little mouth opened for a great yawn.

Cullen's fingers pressed against the back of his boy's head, careful to avoid denting the soft spot, as he felt the beginnings of what was likely to be curly hair. That was certain to be in his son's future. "I'm sorry to say but you're most likely going to be stuck with this nose. We all are. It's a family tradition, along with great stubbornness."

Taking the prophetic words in stride, his son's pajama covered hand thudded against Cullen's shoulders. He wiggled his little feet in their footed pajamas as if trying to dance away the oncoming nap. "That's not going to work either," he said, swaying with the baby tight to him. "I used to pace back and forth on my feet to keep awake during rounds. They called it the Cullen hop, because the moment I stopped moving..."

His son's feet slowed and like clockwork, the little cheek plowed into his skin, tiny snores echoing from the boy.

He was adorable, as if anything created of Lana wouldn't be in spite of Cullen's numerous additions. Those great round eyes, when not rimmed in tears, would flash bright and all but have every girl in their abbey cooing. Asleep, his son drew even more attention. The few times when winter's wrath faded, Cullen would take him on a little walk around the yard curled up in his father's arms and every single person in the abbey stopped to comment. Even the old templars would smile at the baby passed out in a pile of blankets.

"I'm sorry that you're trapped with so much of me in you," Cullen whispered, his lips drifting near the fine fuzz of his baby's head. "I'd hoped..." He thought with a girl that she'd be of Lana: smart, disciplined and bearing almost nothing like her father. But a child with his anger, his snarling certainty, his fear of letting any draw close, it was a cruel curse from the Maker.

"Maybe you'll come out the better for it," he guessed in a strange hope. "Lana, she, I don't know how she is capable of it, but she can calm me down. When I'm walking the line that so easily tips into tyranny she's the only one with the cool breath of logic to take me back. Maybe you'll get that too, to balance out the fire."

Glancing up from his baby, he stared out the window across the forest behind their abbey. Little moved through the stripped trees, every branch waiting in anticipation for snow. With one hand protecting his son, Cullen stepped near the glass to gaze up at the night's sky. "I can't imagine losing her. She's very special to me," a laugh broke from his maudlin thought, "I suppose you're the only one to feel the same. To understand how important she is."

He'd blamed the baby. There was no reason for it, his anger making as much sense as it did when he rendered every mage a potential malifecar. The child couldn't control how he entered the world or if he hurt anyone on the way out. And yet...

Nuzzling his cheek against his baby, Cullen whispered, "Forgive me."

The boy yawned, that Rutherford nose crinkling up as his bright amber eyes opened. They seemed to stare in rapture up at his father a moment before the baby found sucking on Cullen's shoulder far more entertaining. With his pinkie finger, Cullen excised his boy's tight fist up, gently circling around the warm ball of fleece.

Would he be a mage? It was impossible to imagine any ice storms or fireballs erupting from something so tiny. So helpless and gentle. Cullen blinked away a sting in his eyes. He didn't care if his son was to be a mage. If it came to it, Lana would teach him, she would protect him the way she knew how and Cullen would... He'd teach him too, how to shield himself from those that would turn on a mage. People who were once like his father.

"I tried," Cullen began, then shook his head. "I wanted to be more than I am. Too many wild stories of knights as a child filling my head with the foolish notion that I could...fix things. Help people. Save the world, I suppose."

Unaware of the confession lifting off Cullen's chest, his son continued to drool upon him. He seemed to find gnawing upon his father relaxing, another small yawn breaking before the chewing recommenced. "I was wrong in so many matters for far too long. But..." Turning away from his boy he glanced out at the stars glistening in a winter sky. "If I hadn't joined the templars I'd never have met your mother. And for every wrong decision lurking in my past, that's the one bright one to blot so many out."

"You see that star," he turned to the side and tried to pivot the boy to gaze out across the sleeping landscape. Above the horizon, just peeking where the treetops would rustle it in summer, was their star. "That's Fenrir. She taught me to find it, and no matter where I wound up in thedas I...I always could. We would sit under it often, kissing and, um..."

Cullen shifted uncomfortably even as he held the fruit of one of those unions tight to his skin. The baby boy cooed and gurgled, both fists flailing against his father. He wanted the story to continue. "When you're older, I'll teach you how to find it. How to read all the stars. We can..."

Visions of his boy, perhaps four or five years old, perched upon his shoulders while they both gazed up at the stars flitted through his mind. It was the first time he ever saw him not as a baby to be tended to but a person, a child, his son. Someone to love. "I, uh..." The emotions battered against Cullen. For a brief window shame at his taking so long to reach this point threatened to engulf it all, but a widening sense of satiety cleansed him. Maybe he did always love his son, he just took awhile to realize that's who this was.

"Hello there," he called down to the baby as if seeing him for the first time, properly. Without fear clogging his heart or incompetency his limbs, he pressed a kiss to his son's cheek. The boy's head tipped back a moment at that, Cullen quick to catch it, before his son's lips returned to gumming his father.

_Did he say hello back too?_

"There are my boys." Lana's voice drew him away from the window to find her standing framed beside the door. She had her potion apron on over a coat and fuzzy slippers upon her feet to survive the cold, but a bright smile warmed her body. Hobbling over to them with her cane, Cullen met her halfway and scooped his arm around her body.

Her beautiful lips pressed to his, breathing into him hope. After smiling at Cullen, Lana turned to her boy, her fingers drawing down his back to hold him close to his father. "I missed you," she whispered. "Both of you."

"We missed you too," he sighed, meaning every word.

"Is he hungry or...just chewing. There seems to be a lot of that," Lana chuckled at her boy who knew what he liked and didn't seem to be easily swayed from it. Maker's breath, they were right. This was a copy resting in his arms. "Mia seemed near a breakdown when I found her."

There was an obvious question of how he was able to calm their son down where the mythical baby whisperer could not. "I'll have you know I'm quite capable of making him happy," Cullen stuck up for himself. He was going to taunt his sister with this one for awhile.

"You're good at helping me too," she nestled her cheek to the other side of his chest, mother and son staring at each other against him.

"Are you...?"

Lana sighed. She grew tired of talking about it, never a fan of discussing her shortcomings in detail, but he had to know. "It is receding but not entirely gone. I can see the dawn, and that's all that matters."

"Good," he buried his face in her hair, breathing in the love of his life. If he'd lost her... "What were you doing in the potion room?"

It took her a moment to speak before Lana's voice danced around, "There was some talk that stocks were low and I..."

"Maker's sake, Lana. Isn't that why we hired and you trained up a perfectly fine distiller?"

"She's okay, but these required very precise measurements to--"

Cullen pressed his lips to hers, silencing her excuse. That's what it was. He knew she in her perfectionist mood couldn't let anyone else take over her domain and had to intercede. But he didn't care. She needed it, needed to be in charge of something and the fact she wanted to do it warmed him. It was his Lana.

Their kiss broke as their son began to wiggle his legs more, flailing them to try and stave off the nap. "Our little boy," she cooed to him, her fingers massaging up and down his waist. "We should really pick a name for him."

"You have some thoughts already on that," Cullen said. He didn't ask because he knew the answer.

"Perhaps, a few, to run by you. Seeing as how someone was _so certain_ we'd have a girl," she drew her teeth across her lip, all but inviting him to kiss his wife again.

Cullen felt as if his heart might burst from all of this, but Maker's breath was it a wonderful feeling to have. "I love you," he said, "and I know you. You've already got your heart set on what you want."

"That..." she frowned, then wrinkled her nose the same way their son did before yawning. "Ma-a-ybe," the word stretched with her own exhaustion. "Why am I always so tired?"

"Because you made that," he tipped his head over to the baby that was already slipping back to sleep.

"Seems a lousy excuse," Lana murmured. "Walked the deep roads for weeks, took down a brood mother, then a crazy dwarf with a bunch of golems. Did it all on four hours of sleep a night." Her rant faded as she pressed her cheek tighter to his chest."I suppose I should head back to the room."

Cullen shifted and glanced behind him. "Why? We have a bed right there. Come here." With one hand around her waist, he guided his wife back towards the bed. He lay down first, their son cuddled up in his left arm while Lana claimed the right side. Against his skin he could feel her smile as she softly touched the tip of their boy's nose.

"Do you want me to hold him?"

"No," he sighed, holding the entire world in his arms. "There's enough room for you both."

[ ](http://voidtakeyou.tumblr.com/)


	14. Moving On Up

_39 weeks..._

 

Everything was pristine white. Not painted white -- when left to her own devices Reiss defaulted yellow while Alistair kept insisting on green -- but it felt white. Crisper than chantry robes that never set foot outside their hallowed halls. Her first time into the nursery Reiss jammed her hands into her pockets out of fear of smudging up anything.

While the legitimate children's rooms were on the west side of the palace, this rested on the east closer to the King's room. It wasn't chosen right next to his which told Reiss that there'd no doubt been many arguments over just where to stick the elven mistress who spawned her way back to the palace. At least it wasn't a broom closet, Reiss mused.

But no, the father would have kicked up a major fuss if she or their child were jammed into a forgotten corner of the palace and given only scraps to eat. Still, she didn't expect this kind of expense given to the bastard child of a King.

Soft light lanced through a rose stained glass window, casting a cherry wood rocking chair in a heavenly light. A long, plump cushion rested upon the seat and back, beckoning any and all to fall into its embrace. Various tapestries of animals hung upon the grey stone walls. Not so much of the fuzzy and happy variety, but there weren't too many beheadings to traumatize a child. Nestled along the cozier walls were chests of drawers jammed with all the clothing any child would need seemingly from age zero to fifteen.

When exploring on her own Reiss first unearthed a dress she suspected would have fit her pre-pregnancy. Just how long did they plan on using this room for her kid? The thought turned to an icy fear until she began to dig through the drawers and realized there was a highly detailed system for the clothing. No doubt it was Karelle who came up with it, running off of vague suggestions from the King and not Alistair himself who expected her to remain here until their baby was old enough to squire.

While all the clothes were of a fine make, some almost bearing glints of gold and she feared a jewel here or there, it was the crib that caused Reiss to gasp. Carved from iron bark and darker than mahogany, it had a great headboard to the front which bore the Theirin crest. No doubt to remind anyone who stumbled upon the little baby sleeping inside that this was the King's child. She assumed it was the same crib used for the other two children, until Reiss drew nearer to spot the etchings dug deep into the crib's railing and bars.

Running down and across it were words in elvish. She recognized the old lullaby her mother often sung, as well as a blessing that the other elves in the refugee camp would pass around the fire. Some of it she had no clue of, which Alistair did his best to translate. Seemed it was a gift from the Dalish, the people never forgetting the King who nearly risked his life to save their child. Given that they were rather happy on their land, he figured the words weren't a curse upon him and his house. Hoped, at least.

In an ingenious elven fashion, the crib was designed to rock like a cradle, while later be locked in place by a mechanism for when the child grew. She'd never seen anything so well crafted or so beautiful in her life. Nearly everything in the room was far too good for the woman terrified to touch it. Maker, how was she going to keep it clean and away from a baby?

"Hello, gorgeous," Alistair's sunny voice called from the door. She turned slowly, feeling as if an entire moon was orbiting around her stomach while doing so. A bright smile beamed upon Alistair's face as he stared at her. "Maker, I love having you around so I can do that."

"Do what?" Reiss asked.

Sliding into the nursery, Alistair wrapped one arm around her expanding waist and kissed her cheek. "Say hello whenever I feel like," he whispered to her.

She couldn't respond, already feeling a return of the blush. It was taking her some time to adjust to the idea of being out in the open in the palace. It's not as if people weren't well aware the two of them were having an affair, in particular when her stomach entered a room long before she managed. And they'd been nice so far, Karelle chuckling at some of Reiss' good natured grumbling and Renata offering to save her the better leftovers. Maybe this wouldn't be such a long year after all.

"Ugh," Alistair groaned, then twisted his overloaded arm around to drag Cailan's face up to his. "You are a squirmy worm, you know that?" The boy giggled ferociously, his fingers stuck inside a pair of gauntlets far too big for him. He kept waving the fingers then laughing.

"Where's your daughter?" Reiss asked. It was rare to find him with one and not the other.

"She's off at her princess lessons. You know, don't eat your soup with the salad fork. Don't spit on the floor. Don't finish a sentence with a preposition. The real boring and pointless stuff. So..." He hauled Cailan up into his arms and bonked his forehead into the boy's. That got another brash of laughter from the child. "It's just me and him for a little while. Isn't that right?"

Reiss expected a tiny yes from her presence, or a blast of agreement because he forgot she was there. Instead the boy merely giggled more then twisted in his father's arms. Despite the strain, Alistair hung on, the rising bicep bulging up through his royal tunic drawing Reiss' attentions.

"Little pipsqueak," he groaned at his son, "he's up and decided to not talk today. No idea why. Just thinks it's more fun to giggle at everyone, don't you?"

Another hard laugh echoed from Cailan's wide mouth as his father tickled against the boy's sides. "Are you gonna talk now? What if I do this...?" Twisting him quickly, Alistair managed to catch both of Cailan's ankles together in one hand and dangled the boy upside down.

The gauntlets slid off with a heavy thud, but the child found it all hilarious. His laughter was so infectious, Reiss felt her cheeks splitting in joy. Alistair let the boy dangle closer to the floor, Cailan's jet black locks sweeping across the rug. Still he laughed, even as his father gently lowered him to the floor until Cailan rested upon his back.

"Maker's sake," Alistair groaned, trying to massage his overexerted bicep. "When did you get so heavy? I swear, last I checked you were all of ten pounds. Eh," he softly nudged the tip of his boot into the boy, "where's all this extra weight coming from?"

Shaking off the laughter from his son grabbing onto his shoe and promptly untying the laces, Alistair glanced over at Reiss. She knew there was a blush to her cheeks from how easily she was pulled into his web. Sweet Andraste, he was deliriously sexy while playing with his kids. Reiss didn't see the two often, but enough to know that...it may be hard for her to keep her hands off of Alistair once he held their child.

Her hand drifted across her stomach, getting a solid kick in response. Catching on, perhaps because the kid's limbs were evident even through her widening maternity dress, Alistair scooped a hand around her waist and asked, "How are you doing?"

"Feeling very, very fat," Reiss groaned.

"You're not fat. It doesn't count as fat when it's nothing but baby in your stomach," he chuckled, his fingers drifting back to dig through her hair. She let down the bun, but kept half of it pinned back in a low ponytail. It was enough to make Alistair happy while also keeping the hair out of her face.

"What if I ate a baby? Would that still count as not fat?" Reiss prodded as she tipped her head to his shoulder. When not exhausted she felt useless. It'd only been a few days since she moved up to the palace, and already she was out of anything to do. Alistair offered her the chance to sit in on court, and aside from being wildly inappropriate, she'd rather eat rusty glass than join him.

"You've got me there," Alistair admitted. "If you plan on eating babies for constant five course meals I guess I can't ever call you fat."

His other hand drifted across her always widening stomach. Reiss thought she was large before when it prodded a bit out and none of her old pants fit. Maker was she an idiot. Now she drifted through life like one of those river barges used to cart around livestock, barely mobile and liable to barrel through anything in the way. Lunet all but hauled her ass up to the palace district after Reiss accidentally knocked over her stack of files for the fifth time.

"Feeling tired? Need a nap?" he asked her softly, before glancing down at the boy that was now attempting to tie the shoes he undid. "What about you? It's nearly time for your nap."

Cailan, true to whatever vow he took, shook his head a giant negative but didn't voice it. His bright blue eyes shone while he tried to figure out how to make those little loops and knots all the other shoes had. She hadn't run into Beatrice yet, though Alistair assured her ever since the pre-crowning ceremony with the princess the Queen's wrath had cooled to polite indifference. Still... Maybe Reiss could stick to one side of the castle for a year without anyone noticing.

Pinching away a round of 'everything in her body not feeling normal' Reiss shook her head and then tripped into Alistair's fawning eyes. He twiddled a finger through her hair, curling it back behind her ears before trailing up the edge to caress the tip. Still an elf. Always an elf. Blushing, Reiss felt an urge to grab onto this man who was no doubt meant to be in a national meeting and take him to bed. Not for anything romantic, she doubted she'd be up for that for months for how she despised her body, but to lay upon, to nap beside him. He made for the best pillow.

"Sire!" A short man dashed into the room and bowed. Alistair turned from Reiss but didn't release his hand off her waist. _It's okay, Rat. They all know you two are a thing. Don't panic over it._

"That'd be me," Alistair chuckled, then wiggled the toes in his boot at Cailan to add, "right sired?"

The man yanked off his messenger cap to reveal a set of pointy ears. Tipping lower, he tugged a small letter from the back pocket and pressed it into Alistair's hand. "Just arrived, Sire. Thought it looked like something you'd want."

"Thanks, it's..." he twisted it around in boredom, then smiled wider. "This is just what I needed." Alistair clasped the man on the shoulder and a great grin broke over the elf's lips.

Placing back on his hat, he nodded once to his King then turned to go. But, for a brief second his eyes lingered on Reiss. It was so fast she easily could have convinced herself that she imagined the look of disgust that curdled his lip before the elf turned to leave out the door. She wanted to point it out to Alistair, but he was too busy yanking open the letter to read it. While his eyes slid up and down, his face went from ecstatic, to concerned, back to overjoyed, and finally blank.

"Well..." Reiss prompted.

"It's Lanny, she's had her baby! A boy, much to the templar's chagrin," Alistair snickered.

"Already?" Reiss groaned. They hadn't been perfectly synched up but Reiss had hoped she'd be the one to go first, if only to cut down on the agony of waiting.

At that Alistair's eyebrows pinched together, "Over two weeks ago, he came early. Really early, barely even four pounds."

"Maker's breath!" Reiss gasped, "Are they...?"

"They're doing okay, looks like. Lanny's good, and the baby's getting bigger, eating lots she says. But..." His voice trailed off as the far too short letter wafted in his hands.

Reiss drew her fingers over the back of his, cupping his hands tight as she tried to scrounge the contents of the letter through Alistair's eyes. He blinked, aware that he was being stupid and whispered, "She says the taint's back." No! "It's why the baby came so early. Then Lanny assures me that she'll work on another answer, get this licked. The usual stubborn bits I'd come to expect from her."

Not again. Reiss had done her best to not think about the curse of the Grey Wardens when he first told her and what it would mean to him, to them both. So little time remained in comparison to what they could have had and the thought of it stung her. All those missing years. She'd been so overjoyed when this potion seemed to work and now... "Alistair," Reiss drew her hands around his back, and he followed suit, the pair of them falling into a hug.

"There's probably gonna be another joining on my horizon soonish. That'll be fun because the first was nothing but fluffy bunnies and candy colored rainbows. I'm..." he shook it off, the smile she expected slapping into place. "This is a problem later. There's a baby. A baby she says looks just like his father. Poor kid. But a baby! That's celebrating time."

"Are you...?" She knew when he was dodging, but also that sometimes he had to.

His breathing slowed as the hands behind Reiss tightened. Taking in the enormity of his looming mortality, Alistair placed his lips against her forehead and began to place wandering kisses. "Lanny's alive. Her baby's alive. It's a good day, even if..."

"It is a good day," Reiss assured him, those sweet brown eyes honing in on hers, "and I'm almost jealous that she's done with having to cart around a giant stomach."

Alistair smiled painfully, the lift of his lips sliding quickly down but he cupped a hand against Reiss' stomach and whispered, "Don't listen to her, little one. You take all the time you need in there."

"Fine," Reiss groaned, "but next one you're carrying."

He chuckled at that and moved to kiss her lips when a blur suddenly popped up and grabbed his hand away from her belly. Cailan's expectant eyes stared up at his father the way a mabari's would. "What do you want?" Alistair asked.

"Sissy!" Cailan shrieked, breaking his vow of silence.

"Of course," Alistair groaned while lifting the boy up into his arms. "Out of every single thing I tried to get him to say, Spud's the only one he cares about. Couldn't even get cake from him."

Cailan laughed at that, his busy fingers fiddling with something else upon Alistair's busy shirt. "You sure do love your sister, which I guess is better than you two hating each other. Last thing Ferelden needs is another civil war because 'He ripped the head off my dolly when I was six!'"

Without Alistair to hold it, Reiss' fingers drifted back to her stomach trying to calm the flutters from within. Every day they'd start up giving her hope that proper labor would begin, and every day they'd recede back to nothing. What if this kid didn't come out, ever? What if she was cursed to be forever pregnant?

"I'd better take this little critter back to his nanny, then it's to the mines. Karelle had something about a tax increase levied to..." Alistair let his head slump forward, fake snores reverberating out of his nose. Shaking it off with a laugh, he cupped Reiss' cheek and kissed her quick on the lips.

"Good luck," she said while Alistair, holding tight to his son, slowly shuffled his feet. He couldn't properly walk because the child had managed to fully tie his laces across the shoes into an unbreakable knot.

"You two stay safe, and comfortable," he called behind him, "I'll check in on you later. Hopefully before dinner but you know how exciting tax codes are."

As the King and also father of her child left the little nursery, Reiss ran her hand over the elven etchings into the crib. She had no idea what the future would bring but, by the Maker, she wanted to face it head on already. This waiting was killing her.


	15. O Holy Night

_41 weeks..._

 

"Daddy!" The princess' high pitched squeal of excitement echoed around the grand hall as she snatched onto a ribbon and began to peel out between trees. A near on dozen of the saplings sat in decorated buckets lining one side of the room. The other was filling with stacks of gifts and also plates of nuts. While the piles of children staying in the palace for Satinalia pawed and prodded at the gifts, it was the trees that enraptured their future Queen.

She was in high spirits doing her best to help the other servants decorate the trees in time for the festivities tomorrow. Karelle kept glancing over at the nanny, Marn too busy with the multitude of cousins to care, then back to the child who blew a full bucket of glitter at the once gold and silver trees. And, of course, the entire time her father kept secretly encouraging her.

"Looking good, Spuddy!" Alistair called while sticking up a thumb. He'd snatched up one of the red and white helmets traditionally worn by the marching armies of Andraste and perched it upon his head. Normally they decorated the statues set about, or were left upon the trees as part of the old diversionary tactic. But there was barely a hat in thedas that didn't beckon to the King of Ferelden.

Dashing between him were all the piles of servants racing to make this a wonderful Satinalia tomorrow. The Queen directed from the dais, her opinion taken as law and usually overriding whatever suggestion Alistair threw out. It was probably for the best as he seemed to only concern himself with the dessert table's placement.

At the back and doing her best to not be caught out in it stood Reiss. She was miserable. Surprisingly, it wasn't due to her feeling put out as the lone stranger in a sea of family and friends working towards a holiday. In fact, Philipe talked to her for a good hour before Renata caught wind of his hiding and drug him back to the kitchens to help out. And a few of Queen Beatrice's sisters were polite if not highly uncertain about the pregnant elf.

No, her problems all lied within her belly. Three days she'd been waffling with near on labor. Twice she woke Alistair from her bed, dead certain it was time, only to have the trembling fade. For the love of the Maker, the baby flipped over nearly a month ago. She was swollen in every joint that could swell, exhausted, hadn't seen her feet in a month, couldn't lay on her stomach, couldn't squat, could barely move unless given probable cause. It had to end or there was a good chance Reiss would go mad.

Spinning away from his daughter attempting to add cottony snow to the tree branches, Alistair left his perch as the master of ceremonies to slide an arm around Reiss. "What do you think?" he asked, tipping his head towards the lone tree his daughter was making all her childlike own.

"It's very lively," Reiss said diplomatically.

"Caywin, no!" the girl shouted, waving her hand at her brother who was trying to add his own red ball to the mess.

"Spud..." Alistair warned, barely looking back to see if she complied. Growling, with her little arms crossed, she stepped back to let her ecstatic brother shove the ornament upon a branch. Seeing as he was three, he didn't realize it needed to be hung upon a wire and the ball rolled off the branch and smashed to the ground. The child didn't cry at his failure, but clapped his hands. It seemed to catch his sister's eye as well, the pair of them shoving the mercifully unbroken ball further down the great hall.

"Should you stop them?" Reiss asked, watching the pair dart in and out around the pots with their new toy.

"They're happy and not currently breaking anything," Alistair said, "I'm not saying a word. So..." He stopped watching his children as his voice grew husky, his lips waffling against the skin of her neck, "you've been very good this year. What are you hoping for from our dear Andraste?"

Reiss wished she could give in to his moves, but the heartburn that never went away flared back up. Groaning, she spat out, "All I want for Satinalia is to be free of this nightmare and have a baby in my arms." He paused at that, those puppy eyes blinking in concern at her bitter tongue. Rolling her hand across his cheeks, she tacked on, "Baring that, a pony."

The smile she wanted lifted on him, "I don't know if an army is in the habit of dropping off ponies before it marches, but..." His mischievous eyes darted back and forth as he leaned closer to her ear, "I've heard talk of one way to get a baby out quickly?"

Dear Maker, she'd tried them all. Every blighted old wives tale from drinking felandris oil to eating five hot peppers, no doubt contributing to her heartburn. There'd even been a ride in a carriage with Lunet, which began as a way to try to induce labor but turned into her spying an attempted murder on the street and having to send her friend after it. At least Reiss hadn't fully lost her touch even as this baby was pushing every button inside of her but the eject.

She turned to Alistair, anticipating his answer to be something she had to eat, or drink, or rub all over her body for five hours a day. His eyebrows undulated and a great grin answered, "It's the same thing that made the baby in the first place."

"That..." He had to be kidding. Then again, she'd try anything to get this thing out of her. "Really?"

"Heard it from a few people. Granted, it was more when Bea was big enough to pop and I had no say in that matter, but..." Alistair circled his hand up and down her arm, his eyes so impishly adorable she'd have given in even if it wouldn't get this labor party started. Too bad there were other problems.

"That's nice in theory, but..." Reiss shook her head. "You can't mean now." There were dozens of people crowded around them, too busy to listen in, while Alistair was being father to the country.

He let his mouth inch close to her ear to whisper, "I rather doubt they'll notice my disappearance for an hour or so."

"An hour?" Reiss scoffed. "You'll get ten minutes, tops, before I either have to pee or lay down."

Maker, that should have shaken him off, but he seemed enthralled with the idea. "Challenge accepted," Alistair grinned, his hand sliding in behind her back.

"Alistair, that..." Reiss began, but he interrupted her.

"Karelle?" The dutiful chamberlain looked over. "I'm gonna help Reiss up to her room for a nap. Think you can keep an eye on my two terrors 'til then?"

"Aye Sire..." she smiled at him, the woman in a festive mood. Then the sound of breaking glass followed by hyperactive giggling caused her to groan, "I shall do my best."

"Wait until there's another one wreaking havoc with them," Alistair said to her, earning an even louder groan. Before Karelle could go back on her word, or pummel him with her clipboard, he began to guide Reiss towards the stairs.

This was foolish, silly, to be leaving a crowded ballroom in order to have sex with the King in some attempt to get his child to come out faster. Reiss pinched up her nose and shook off the crown. Her eyes glanced over to the man with his arm wrapped around her, a gorgeous and sweet man that'd often wash her pots while naked because she forgot to make room. It wasn't a King's child she was carrying but Alistair's.

Calmed by that, Reiss let her head drop to his shoulder as they walked up the stairs, and her hand pinched his tight ass.

 

* * *

 

 

A dozen heavenly voices sang to the prophet Andraste, as well as the King's court and family gathered in the hall. They'd left the meal behind to all stand around the interior decorated forest and the dais before it. Reiss did her best to sample all of Renata's hard work while eating as little as possible. It was good, the best she'd ever had for the holiday, but her stomach was rumbling worse than before. Every breath brought up a pinch from deep inside, perhaps the baby unhappy with their afternoon eviction attempt.

While Alistair had sat perched upon the host chair beside the Queen with an elderly Eamon and Isolde to the left, Reiss took up a chair near the middle of the table. It surprised her she wasn't down at the bottom with the rest of the not-nobles, but every once in awhile Alistair would look up from his meal and flash her a cheeky grin. No doubt he was mentally playing back his attempt at the best quickie he could manage, the man putting a lot of pride in his work. Which did deserve accolades, Reiss had to admit. Even while she was frustrated and in pain, he was amazing at distracting her to orgasm.

Maker's sake, Rat! She tried to fan her cheeks as she realized she was thinking about...that, while surrounded by the castle's children and most of the chantry. The Grand Cleric stood less than a stone's throw away from her, her arms folded into her robes as she watched the proceedings with an amused smile. Amazingly, few drew attention to the unwed, about to be mother standing in their midst. Karelle spoke to her for a bit, and the Bann who sat across from Reiss at the table struck up a polite conversation about her work. But otherwise, they treated her as if she wasn't special, but not a threat either. Just another body in their midst.

Alistair stood in front of the group closest to the choir fanned out before the glittering forests. He had Cailan perched on his shoulders, the boy dressed in a fine green velvet suit coat, while the princess kept trying to tug the tiara out of her hair. The girl stood beside her father, one gloved hand holding onto his and the other fluffing her golden skirt back and forth. Every once in awhile the Queen would lean over and tell her daughter to stand up straight.

They looked like a happy family watching the festivities for the holiday.

Reiss would always skip this, leaving him to the palace and his children for holidays while she toiled away at work. Of course, Alistair would insist they still celebrate whatever day they skipped later, often decorating her tiny apartment in eggs or pages of the chant to do it. She never much minded missing out, the holidays were incidental to an elf that went from farm girl, to refugee, to migrant worker. Only the very devout Andrastian would insist their workers get the day off to bask in her glory. Most preferred to leave the elves out in the field while they all dressed in their best to head to the chantry.

_What did you get yourself into?_

Her hand drifted over her stomach, trying to calm the constant twitching from inside. Was Lunet right? Would Reiss be standing behind the royal family clinging to their child while the Grand Cleric droned on about civility and purity of heart? How many of these things did Alistair grit his teeth through, seeming to only survive because of the grace of his children? And how many would he expect their baby to attend?

A little late to be worrying about that now, isn't it Ress?

Taking a steadying breath, she caught the concerned eye of Karelle. The chamberlain with a giant red bow perched upon the small of her back scooted through the throngs to dip down to Reiss. "Are you well?"

"Yes," she gritted her teeth in a forced smile.

"You look as if you have a bobcat inside you," Karelle whispered.

"It..." Reiss shook off another round of the kid's punches and kicks. Maker's sake, this baby never seemed to stop. That's what she got for carrying the child of two warriors. "That sounds accurate somedays."

"Should I get you a chair?" Karelle asked, waving her hand out towards one.

Reiss gripped the woman's hand and shook her head. "No, I'm..." She didn't want to be out of place. Everyone else was standing. She could suck it up too. "It'll pass. It always does."

"Very well," Karelle said, "but if..."

Her words drowned out as the Grand Cleric stepped up to the small dais while the choir shifted further to the back in deference. She had on her best robes, starched and pressed until nearly blinding and tipped her great hat. "Ladies, Gentlemen, my Lord," she bowed a bit at Alistair who gave a cheery wave before gripping back onto his son, "we stand here tonight in remembrance of our brave Andraste and her struggle to rise up against the mage oppression. Magic should serve man and never rule over him. These are the words of our fair Maker as told to his Bride and imparted to us. We often forget what oaths we swore, letting time erode promises made to our offices, our friends, our wives and husbands."

 _Ah crap_ , Reiss tried to not groan. She was talking at her. Great, fantastic. Was the woman going to point out, "And look, we have our own example of a whore right here?" Yes, she kept on this life. Yes, she was sleeping with a married man. Fine, she was carrying his child. Let's all gawk and maybe throw stones, that will fix things. Starving children in the street a problem? How about we burn an adulterer? That ought to work.

"It is our duty to do what was right, not always what is easy," the Grand Cleric continued, somehow managing to not jab wildly at Reiss in the crowd. "And on this day as we sit in honor of the brave souls who plucked tree from root and carried a forest across enemy lines to free us all out of magic's tyranny, think upon their sacrifice."

Funny how all those souls were considered to be human. Every statue done up for Satinalia was always of the same three faces with nary a pointy ear in sight despite it being Shartan who marched Andraste's armies. Reiss didn't even think a thing of it until she walked past the alienage that had an elven statue carrying a tree. History was written by the ones who needed to make sure they looked the best in it.

"Let us bow our heads and pray," the Grand Cleric continued. Every head tipped down, hands clasping while the woman stretched her arms out to try and hug her flock. "Maker, creator of all, from You we came, and to Your side we shall return. To us You sent Your most beloved Andraste to usher us from the chains and break off the collar of mage oppression. On this day of her decisive victory over the ancient Imperium we give thanks to You, to Your Bride, and to our blessed Divine Victoria."

That last part got a few rumblings through the crowd, some mouths unhappy with just how many poor and enslaved souls the Divine was bringing into the chantry. Maker, was this what Atisha was putting up with in the Grand Cathedral? Or did everyone have to play even nicer there? Reiss' thoughts were thrown off as a new twist seized up her stomach. _Calm down, kid._ It'll be over soon and she could fall into a chair.

"In Andraste's name we pray," the Grand Cleric smiled, her eyes shining at the attention. "May the gaze of the Maker and of his Bride turn upon you always."

"Holy shit!" Reiss screamed, buckling to a knee as her curse reverberated through the deathly silent hall. Her curse tainted the pure air, every folded palm yanking apart in shock. She should have felt embarrassed as all the tongues moved to cluck her to death for such a crass interruption but it felt as if her insides were trying to rip in half. "Owe, owe, owe," she groaned, her head tipping to her chest to face another oncoming storm of pain. A hand grabbed onto hers and she squeezed tight, trying to will everything knotting her up through it.

As it passed, she lifted her eyes to find it was Karelle holding her hand, a perturbed look upon her lips. A great space formed around Reiss, everyone doing their best to get away from the blaspheming woman, when Alistair bounded through a few feathered Banns.

"Reiss?" he called, dropping to a knee and taking her entire arm in his. "What is it?"

She shook her head, spots darting against her vision. "Don't know. Lot of pain real fast and hard."

"Contractions?" the Queen's voice drifted above her, and both Reiss and Alistair turned to it. Beatrice held Cailan in her arms, her emerald eyes darting down to the mistress gasping in pain.

"Maybe, it's... Damn it, not another one," Reiss reached out and clasped tight to Alistair's shoulder. Digging in tight, she let another wave of pain pass before starting into his eyes.

"Okay," he looked ghostly white, stricken from her pain. Damn it, he's already been through this before. He was supposed to be her expert. Carefully, Alistair helped Reiss to her feet. He had one hand around her back as if afraid she might buckle again.

"Seems there's going to be a baby soon. I'm gonna help her up to the room, you all carry on with the celebration," Alistair called to the mob. He nodded at Karelle who was gripping tight to her clipboard. It took a moment before she glanced up and nodded dumbly.

As Alistair and Reiss slowly limped towards the stairs, guests scattering from her like she carried the blight, Beatrice asked, "Do you...require any help?"

Alistair's confused eyes met Reiss and all she could do was shrug. "I think we've got it now. You stay with the kids," he said to his wife and Queen.

"Very well," Beatrice cuddled tight to her son as Alistair and Reiss scurried away from every judgmental eye and no doubt clucking tongue.

"Maker's fucking hemorrhoids," Reiss groaned, tumbling to the bed they'd been preparing for this eventuality.

"Another contraction?" Alistair asked. He began to strip off his fancy shirt which Reiss eyed up as she rolled over onto her back.

"No, me, making a total ass out of myself in front of...pretty much every single important person in Denerim."

"It wasn't that bad," Alistair laughed, tossing his shirt to the desk and then rubbing her arm.

"No, you're right, every important person in Ferelden. Good thing I never go to the chantry because I sure as shit can't stick my head in there ever again," Reiss wallowed, feeling her life shatter in an instant.

"Reiss," Alistair circled his hands around her cheeks, tugging her face up to his, "You're going to have a baby. A little cursing's allowed. Pretty sure everyone in that room knows how it goes."

"Old crusty Mothers who haven't seen a dick in decades?" she shot back, her normally held in check crassness snapping out. Reiss was trained to bite her tongue in the presence of her betters, but with pain jarring her every breath she wanted to curse worse than Lunet walking on a rusty nail.

Alistair found it hilarious, a laugh stretching his lips until he planted them to her forehead. She folded her arms across her aching chest, and sniped, "This isn't funny."

"It's... Okay, right now, with you in pain, it's not funny. But in a few weeks, or months, or when the kid's bringing a significant other to meet the parents..."

Maker take her, but he looked so damn cute while trying to appease her. No, that was what got you into this mess in the first place! Reiss pushed her palm against his cheek as much to try and tell him he was being an idiot as to keep herself distracted. Alistair took it all in stride, which didn't surprise her much.

"Milord, we came as soon as we could," a twin pair of midwives appeared along with the silent healer who barely spoke two words, wasn't exactly wild about sitting in on a birth, but agreed because otherwise he'd get shipped back to the College.

"Here's your patient," Alistair chuckled, stepping back to reveal Reiss stretched out upon the bed. "But I should warn you, she's feisty."

"I swear to the Maker, I will..." Reiss waved her fist at him, which he caught and then pressed a kiss to.

While the midwives smiled politely and prepped Reiss for what was to come, Alistair kept ahold of her fist. He wouldn't even let her unclench her fingers, just clung tight to her as if afraid she might suddenly vanish. It wasn't until one of the twins, Maker she was never going to be able to tell the difference, stuck her head down between Reiss' legs that Alistair shifted.

"Careful or I may have to challenge you to a duel of honor," Alistair joked.

"Milord?" the poor girl's rosy cheeks faded to fear.

"He's kidding. He does it a lot," Reiss raced to reassure the woman that should be assuring her. "What's the...what'll happen?"

"Labor has begun, but I fear we are in for quite a wait yet," she announced, turning back to smile at her sister who was slowly laying out at first towels and now various metal instruments of torture.

"Blighted void, of course we are," Reiss cursed at herself. "What about this won't take forever?" She shook off her whining to glance over at the man who had his grand ballroom full of fancy people no doubt doing their best to pretend to celebrate. "You should head back to the party."

"What? You need me here," Alistair insisted, wrapping both hands around hers.

"It will be many hours, your Majesty," the second twin, the torture one piped up.

"Go," Reiss tugged him close, his forehead butting into hers, "go spend the time with your kids. Open presents and sing songs and gorge on treats. I'll be up here waiting, as I always am."

She spotted the tug in his eyes. He wanted to be in two places at once, both playing with his children that were already on the ground while also here with her watching for the next one. But it was foolish of him to waste that time sitting here bored out of his mind. "Are you certain? I don't want to miss anything," he'd been oddly excited about being there for the great emergence, having been kept far from Beatrice for her births.

"I swear, if I think the kid's gonna pop out I'll cross my legs really hard until someone gets you," Reiss promised to his beautiful brown eyes.

"That isn't recommended," one of the midwives popped up, but the lovers ignored her.

"Okay," Alistair agreed, brushing his lips against hers for a kiss. "It'll be an hour at most and then I'll come back. I promise."

He began to regretfully sidle to the door, the midwives trying to shoo him out of the way as they continued their preparations. "Don't worry," Reiss called, "I'll be sure to describe every bone breaking pain and gooey bodily fluid that leaks out of me on your return."

His face scrunched up in disgust, but she knew it was for dramatic effect. Blowing her another kiss, he turned to leave, when Reiss shouted, "Alistair! Your shirt!"

"Oh, right," he grabbed onto the one he'd abandoned as if thinking he'd be yanking their baby out with his bare hands. Sliding one arm on, he paused and soulful eyes few ever saw in their King stared over at her, "Good luck."

"I love you too," Reiss called out. As the father vanished to be with his other children, Reiss prepared herself to bring the newest one screaming into the world. "If a corpse is found dead beside the river, make certain to ascertain if it's..."


	16. Hello There

"I'll give you a pony, two ponies, you can have the crown right now and order every person in Ferelden to give you your dessert if you'd just. Go. To. Sleep!" Alistair clasped his hands together on his knees while pleading with his daughter to close her eyes.

Cailan passed out in the middle of the forest dance, his little head listing back and forth as Alistair trundled him off to bed. Now all he had to do was get Spud down and he could check on Reiss. There hadn't been word from anyone in an hour and while everyone kept assuring him babies took time, he refused to be patient. Maker only knew there was no chance Reiss was being it.

His daughter sat with Mr. Tibbles under her arm and gazed down at her broken father. Three separate glasses of water sat perched beside her bed because the first was too warm, the second too cold, and the third 'he was going to lock her in the dungeon if she didn't drink it.' Spud crossed her arms and muttered, "I'm not tired."

"Spuddy, you have to sleep. It's Satinalia tomorrow and it'll come even faster if you go to sleep."

"I wanna stay up with you," she launched forward, almost sliding out of bed to latch her arms around his neck.

Alistair was quick to catch her hands, "Oh no, that's not going to work. Daddy's...I'm gonna be busy tonight. Be good and go to sleep. When you wake up you might have a new brother or sister to play with."

That caused her lip to pucker out, Spud's normally chubby cheeks tucking back into a scowl. "I don't want another brother."

"It could be a sister," he was trying anything to bribe her short of letting her order a few executions. "You could do her hair, or put her in funny dresses, or challenge her to duels. I don't know!" Exhaustion and desperation were ransacking Alistair's brain.

"Humph," Spud tucked Mr Tibbles tighter into her crossed arms and glared at nothing, "I don't want it. I don't want Caywen."

"Well too bad. He's here and there's gonna be another one too. You know, you used to like your brother," Maker take him, he was trying to argue logic with a six year old. Alistair was truly screwed.

"Did not. You're lying. I never liked Caywen. He's a stinky head."

Admittedly, it was a fleeting perhaps year where the baby was cute, and adorable, and didn't keep getting into Spud's way. Then he started walking and the sister turned quickly upon her brother. Alistair already girded himself for when Cailan would turn on whoever was inside Reiss, the gap in years the same.

"Look, you are going to go to sleep because I...I have to sit at my desk doing boring King things that you hate," Alistair tried a new tactic, but the kid was far too bright.

Spud stuck out her tongue and sneered, "Nu uh, you never do that on Satinalia. You go off to play with Weiss."

Damn. He blinked in surprise at the fact she knew that. Alistair did his best to stretch his time evenly between the two lives, but sometimes sacrifices had to be made. "Spuddy, I..."

He trailed off as the nursery door opened to reveal Bea standing in it. She'd slipped on her night robe and looked far more relaxed than the man remaining in his fancy dress clothes save the tight collar he popped open. "Little lady," Beatrice spoke to Spud, "you should be asleep. It's long past your bedtime."

"But Daddy..." Spud whined, her fingers reaching over to snuggle to his neck. Now that he was her only chance to stay awake she suddenly wasn't mad at him.

"Has other business to attend to. Say goodnight, you'll see him in the morning," Beatrice commanded.

Spud's bright eyes sized up her unbendable mother, then she dashed forward and placed a kiss to Alistair's cheek. "Night, Daddy," she spat out quickly before releasing her hold then twisting over to lay away from them to make her wrath well known and no doubt forgotten come the morning.

"Sleep tight, Spudkins," he said, gently patting her back and staggering up to his feet. To Bea, he said, "Thank you."

She tipped her head, the fancy coif having been dismantled into soft ebony waves. "You are needed elsewhere," Beatrice was tightlipped. They'd been on not the best talking terms since she learned Reiss was going to be in her house for a little while. Alistair scurried to the door, his mind already shifting away from his child mode to let free all the worry he'd kept bottled away during the festivities.

"Alistair?" He froze dumbfounded; she never used his name. "I pray that everything will go well for you both."

He smiled at that and nodded, "Me too. Good evening, Beatrice."

"And to you as well, my King."

When he yanked open the door to Reiss' room he expected to see her laying on her back screaming at some hapless servant's face while the midwives bustled around. Instead he found her bottomless and pacing back and forth through the room. A small book was clutched in her hand which, as she kept walking, he recognized as being one of her old case files.

"Maker's breath, you're doing work while in labor?" he gasped.

She turned from whatever world she drifted off to when examining evidence and her eyes shined a moment along with a grateful smile at his reappearance. "This thing is taking forever, so I thought I'd walk around a bit while thinking through some cold files."

Shrugging off his shirt for real this time, Alistair scooped a hand along her waist. "How are you doing?"

"Contractions once every fifteen or so minutes. Some not bad, others painful enough I want to crack open a tal-vashoth skull. So, typical child labor I think," Reiss shrugged as if she was waiting for her horse to finish being shod. How was she not in some sort of panic? Oh right, because she was amazing and sometimes he suspected an ancient elf out of legend.

Running his palm across her cheek, Alistair tried to smooth back her hair behind her ears. He leaned in for a kiss, then realized they were truly alone. "Where are the midwives?"

"Rutting around with that silent healer would be my best guess," Reiss threw out before kissing his slack lips.

"What? Together? At the same time? Aren't they sisters?" Alistair's face pinched up at the thought, uncertain which way to take the idea.

Reiss laughed, "In truth, I think they're taking turns. Perhaps unaware they're both interested in the same man. It seemed a strange dance to watch both flirting with him and the mage giving away nothing, but deciphering it did keep me distracted."

"You are something else," he meant it as a compliment, but Reiss gritted her teeth and loudly closed her book.

"I really want this kid out of me," she sighed, her hand rustling up and down her stomach. "Why is this taking so long?"

"Babies take..."

She drew her hand up against his throat, and he saw the same glint in her eye Cade no doubt did before he swung off the gallows, "Finish that thought and so help me!"

"I give!" Alistair held up his hands in surrender before scooping them both around the restless mother to be. She relented in her agitation to hug him back, at first it was sweet but then her hand began to cling tight to him. "Reiss?"

"Another one," she gasped. "Really strong." Alistair was quick to work her around into his arms, trying to hold her upright as she crumbled in from the pain. When it passed, she shook her head as if she took a strong shot, "I don't know why anyone does this."

"Babies are kinda cute and the steps to making them are a lot of fun," he shrugged and the woman glared murder at the man incapable of knowing this pain.

"The fun isn't worth this," she began to crab walk to the bed, her butt falling onto the mattress. As her legs lifted up she tipped her head back and sighed, "All right, maybe some of it is worth it. The tongue stuff."

Reiss rested on the bed while Alistair fell to the chair beside her. He tried to wipe away the sweat dotting her forehead. "I love you," he began.

"Sweet talking me now will get you nowhere," she bit back with but there was no malice. Instead, she was laughing with him as they so often did. Blessed Andraste but she did seem to be Maker sent for him.

Sliding forward, Alistair butted his forehead against hers, wiping his oily skin over all his hard work. "And, I can't wait to meet our baby."

Reiss' hands slid out to grip his and she grunted, "We're in this together."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

 

* * *

 

"One more push, I think."

She despised that voice. That singsong, aren't I so cute butterflies should fly out of my mouth when I talk voice. Reiss dreamed of grabbing onto the midwife's perky little throat and ripping her vocal cords out even as she bared down to get this damn thing out of her.

"Am I too late?" Alistair's head appeared in the doorway as it had been for the past however long she'd been trapped in this hell. He blanched at the sight a moment, but dashed quickly to her side. Reiss dug her fingers into him, unable to speak a word as she tried to squeeze her entire insides out of a quarter sized hole.

For the entire night he'd watched by her side, trying to soothe some of the pains away and generally being hapless but sweet. With dawn came no baby and the rising problem of a King who had to attend to Satinalia matters in a castle unimpressed about an elf in labor. He kept vanishing, running off to open presents, return to hold her hand and tell her to breathe. Dash to start breakfast and give a traditional toast, back to wipe off her forehead and tell her he was proud. Then off to lead the parade of trees only to come jogging back with a crown of branches perched on his head in time to tell Reiss to push.

The last time he ran out to deal with some civic matter that flew in and out of the ear of the woman in tremendous pain, she figured he wouldn't make it back. Once this kid finally got it in its head to get out, there was no stopping it.

"I can see the head," the midwife who'd spent most of the time between Reiss' legs called out. The other twin stood by the ready with towels in her hands while the silent healer only grumped. Okay, first she was going to garrote the perky sisters, then disembowel the healer. Perhaps use his entrails to make blood sausage; at least then he'd be good for something.

"You're doing great," Alistair cheered, his hands gripping tighter to hers. She gave him a withering look of rage and he glanced down, causing the branch crown to teeter, "I believe in you?"

"One more push," the woman cheered.

"If I have to fucking hear 'push' one more Maker damn time," Reiss growled but she did as ordered. At the end of this they were going to have to scoop up her intestines and stomach to shove back inside her from the force she was shoving down. "Get out, get out, get out!" she babbled, tears of pain and exhaustion springing from her eyes.

Alistair stared at her gritting face, a hand wrapping around behind her shoulders as he tried to help as best he could. She was on the edge of giving up, of deciding that keeping the kid inside her for a few more weeks wouldn't be so bad when the mounting pressure popped and the baby slid out. The towel woman was quick to catch it, rubbing the baby clean of all the internal viscera while tears of freedom from the pain percolated in Reiss' eyes. It was out. She was free...

"Is it...?" the uncertain fear struck her and she staggered to sit up.

A little cry erupted from the towels, and she spotted a very red and angry face crying at the manhandling going on with its tiny body. The midwife smiled, "Congratulations, you have a little girl."

"Oh, thank the Maker," Reiss' head collapsed back onto the pillow and she turned to catch Alistair's eyes wide in joy. He was so enthralled with watching the baby get scrubbed clean he didn't notice her brush her fingers against his cheek. After nearly jumping out of his socks at the touch, he turned and smiled at her.

Placing a kiss to her fingers, he said, "I knew you could do it."

"All right, my Lady. Now to deal with the afterbirth."

While Reiss got the rest of the mess out of her, the mage checked over their baby. A clean bill of health the man snorted, annoyed at how he wasn't needed for any of it. She began to laugh at the absurdity of making the mage stand around for a day, when this tiny pink body was lain upon her naked chest.

Maker's breath...

"Look at that hair," Alistair cooed. Nearly a full head of dark blonde hair stood straight up courtesy of the toweling off. "She looks like wheat. Hello there, little wheaty," he quickly nicknamed his daughter, his fingers cupping down her back bearing acne spots.

Reiss couldn't say anything. She was laying in shock at this perfect little body stretched upon her. Soft, and warm, and so fragile; she felt a rising urge to shield her baby girl with everything in her body. Unable to help himself, Alistair drew up her curled fists, letting each one fall back onto Reiss while he laughed at the simplicity of it all. A baby. Their own baby.

"I'm your Daddy. I will also accept Dad, Da, and Waa, my pants are wet," he babbled, both parents fingers unable to stop touching their baby. For a brief second his eyes broke from the miracle resting upon Reiss' chest to stare at her, "And this is your Mom. Though you probably already knew that one."

"Hi," Reiss felt silly introducing herself to the baby that rested inside of her for ten months. But as she spoke, those fine little eyelids rose to beam a pair of beautiful, bright green eyes on her.

"Just like her mother," Alistair smiled at the sight before burrowing his nose into Reiss' neck as he tried to hug his family tight.

With a close view, Reiss spotted within the field of green a few dribbles of brown. There was some of her father in there, no doubt. Certainly more would begin to show itself with time. Slowly, she drew her fingers around the baby's head, smoothing down the 'wheat' hair before coming to rest upon her tiny ears. She couldn't deny the small frown at feeling round nubs where her heart told her points should be.

"Reiss?"

"Even with...I thought maybe given your, uh," she glanced around at the people surrounding them who didn't need to know about Alistair's dubious parentage, "I'd hoped for pointy ears."

"Oh," he brushed his face closer to their baby, pecking his lips to her warm head and smiling. "You know, I think I see a little bump here. It's not much, but..."

She drew her fingers around the shell of her baby's ear, careful to gently tease it around and felt what could have been nothing more than a pimple. It was silly. It didn't matter what her ears looked like, or if she had green or brown eyes. She was healthy, she was here. She was theirs.

"I love you, Reiss," Alistair whispered first to her, and then to their baby, "And I love you too, little one."

"Myra," she said, gently smoothing down her little girl's hair. Alistair blinked in confusion at her. "Her name is Myra."

"So we're not doing the naming tradition then?" he asked.

Reiss chuckled, remembering back to how they met, "I'd rather skip the assassins if it's all the same."

That caused him to laugh. Alistair moved to scoop Myra off her chest, then paused and looked to the mother. Reiss nodded that of course he could. With the practiced hand of a now thrice-over father, Alistair cuddled the baby close in his arms and whispered to her, "Myra Sayer Theirin."

At that Reiss sat up, "Theirin? Is that wise."

"She's my daughter. Might as well get stuck with the family name."

People would hate it. They'd rail against it. A bastard was a child with two names, a motherless bastard with one. To give her three would be considered legitimizing her and to have the King do it would draw her into the line of secession. Reiss sighed, exhaustion quickly overtaking the burst of energy from joy. She could talk him out of it later. For now, let him love his daughter.

"She's so warm. Maker I forgot how warm they are. And the smell," Alistair smiled. He'd unbuttoned the first few on his shirt in order to tuck his baby girl tight to his skin. Flesh of my flesh. Reiss reached over to caress down Myra's back. "My little Wheaty," he chuckled again.

Myra's bright greens opened a moment at her father's words and then the crying commenced.

 

 

The new family took a few hours to get cleaned up, as rested as one can with a newborn, and for Reiss to get some milk into Myra's belly before Alistair went to tell everyone the good news. He was sitting in the chair holding Myra while Reiss lay in bed when the Queen appeared with her children in tow. Cailan was in her arms, his exhausted head laying upon her chest as he must have been roused from a nap or perhaps sleep itself.

Reiss wasn't certain what time it was, or even what day.

"Congratulations," Beatrice tipped her head to the mistress while acting as civil as possible. "Satinalia is an auspicious day to be born. There are no doubt great things in this child's life."

"No," Reiss groaned, "she did not come out on..."

"Yup, biggest holiday of the year. Bet she's gonna love you for choosing it," Alistair leaned over to Reiss and pecked a kiss on her cheek.

"As if I had any say in the matter," Reiss groaned to herself.

The princess clutched tight to her mother's skirt, her rarely pacified thumb suckered into her mouth. She peered first over at Reiss in bed, then at her father holding onto the baby. Slowly, the girl risked inching nearer to Alistair. When nothing deadly shot out of the blankets in his hand, she removed her thumb and gripped onto his knee.

"See Spuddy," Alistair tipped Myra towards her, "a new little sister." The girl eyed up the baby with cautious disinterest before popping her thumb back in her mouth. "Oh, come here," Alistair slid Myra over to one arm then scooped the other around his first daughter. She fully abandoned her mother's skirt in order to hug around her father's neck, the princess laughing at the kisses he peppered her in.

"You know I love you, Spud. All three of you. Even you, sleeping beauty," he chuckled and jerked his chin to Cailan who seemed to be slowly rousing from his nap.

The boy took a few more blinks before he caught sight of his sister in his father's arms then began to slide out of Beatrice's. As Cailan rushed over for a hug, the princess slipped away, her little emerald eyes rolling wide. When Cailan received his requisite kiss to the forehead, he gripped onto the edge of Alistair's arm under the blanket and peered in at Myra's bright pink face.

"Baby?"

"Yep, another sister for you too."

"I wanna hold!" Cailan insisted extending his hands out as if the newborn was about to be plopped into them.

"Cailan, that's..." Beatrice reached over, but Alistair waved it off.

"I got this." He smoothly lifted Myra up into the air, the baby gurgling from the move but not crying, then he patted his lap. Cailan was quick to scurry up into it. "Okay, hold your hands out like this," Alistair commanded and he slowly settled Myra into the boy's arms while still maintaining his steady grip below.

"Baby!" Cailan squealed, entertained with the tiny child he stared down at.

"This is Myra," Alistair said, his nose bonking into the back of his son's head after.

"Then you..." Beatrice glanced over at Reiss, "have forgone the tradition."

"There didn't seem to be much point," Reiss admitted. "Not as if the chantry wants to get involved."

The Queen flinched at her laying out the facts so succinctly, then nodded, "I suppose that is true." Reiss wasn't delusional enough to think her child would be welcomed by everyone just because Alistair wished it to be. Besides, she wasn't about to call her child 'baby' for a good month in order to appease some old rule to keep her from getting attached.

Cailan began to kick his legs in excitement, one plowing into Alistair's shin as he cried, "I want a baby!"

"A baby? You're a little young for that," he laughed to hide the pain. "How about a doll instead?"

"If Caywen gets a doll, then I get a sword! A real one too!" the princess spun fast towards her father, quick to cut in on this deal.

"Spud, we've been over this. You can't have a real sword until you're how old?"

She gripped onto the bedspread below Reiss and groaned, "Ten."

"And how old are you now?" Alistair continued questioning her.

"Six," she shot out through clenched teeth.

"Which means there are how many more years remaining until you can hit people with a metal sword?"

The girl grumbled into her hands, not wanting to relent. It was Cailan who spoke up in his happy, singsong voice, "Four."

That caused all the adults to whip their heads over at the boy who was still enthralled with the idea of his own baby. "You're right," Alistair breathed against him, "and scare me sometimes. We know you didn't get your smarts from me," he chuckled to the kid meaning it as a compliment to the boy's mother, but a deafening silence fell. Every adult in that room knew the truth, that Cailan got nothing from his father. The only child who did wasn't even a day old.

Reiss tried to not look over at Beatrice, but she felt the glare increasing tenfold. Maker's sake, was this how it was always going to be? Reiss didn't want her daughter anywhere near the throne. Alistair didn't want Myra on it either. The Queen had nothing to fear and yet...

"Where'd the baby come from?" The princess' voice shattered the rising tension to replace it with a new awkward one.

"Wh...?" Alistair coughed and sputtered, his face turning as pink as their baby daughter's. "What do you mean?"

"First it was in there," she pointed at Reiss deflated stomach, then turned to her father, "now it's there. How?"

"Oh sweet merciful Maker," Alistair gasped as the other two women sighed in relief at not having to explain reproduction to the six year old at that moment. The girl, however, wanted an explanation for this parlor trick. She folded her arms tight to her chest and glowered at her father.

Alistair began, "Well, you know when your tummy hurts really bad, Spud?" He couldn't be serious. Reiss shook her head, catching Beatrice's eye a moment. He was serious. The girl nodded in agreement as the man continued, "And then you go to the bathroom and you feel better. That's kinda how it works."

She fell silent, digesting her father's words with a seriousness only a young child was capable of. It seemed to work to satiate her curiosity when the girl suddenly spat out in an accusatory fashion at Reiss, "You pooed a baby out?"

"That, uh... Bloody hell, Alistair," Reiss spat at the man who was shrugging his shoulders and trying to bury the embarrassment into the baby and the back of his son's head. The Queen politely palmed her face at the idiocy then beckoned her daughter to her. Sliding over, Reiss whispered in Alistair's ear, "I know who's not having the birds and bees talk with our daughter now."

He chuckled at that, his come-what-may shrug lapping across those gorgeous eyes. Unable to take it, Reiss cupped her fingers against his jaw for a sweet kiss. Even feeling like someone jammed a flaming hot sword up her Abyssal Reach she couldn't stop loving this giant goof.

"Come along, son," Beatrice suddenly spoke up, breaking the two lovebirds apart. "We should let them alone to rest."

Cailan stuck out his lip, not wanting to give up on his baby, but at his mother's look he sighed and began to wiggle out. Would Reiss get that same skill? She could barely get her cat to stay off the counter. Maker's breath, how was she going to control a toddler?

The Queen scooped her hands around her son and moved to tug her daughter away when Reiss suddenly sat up with a thought, "Beatrice?" She flinched at using the woman's given name and not title, but the Queen didn't react. "Would you like to hold the baby?"

"I..." she glanced down at her pair of children, then her eyes began to water as Alistair slid up to his legs. "I would, please." As the father left his daughter in the Queen's arms Beatrice snuggled Myra tighter to her breast. Alistair sat down on the bed beside Reiss, the pair of them locking hands together.

For awhile Beatrice stood in silence staring down at the tiny creature asleep in her arms. She seemed as much in awe of her as the ones who created Myra. Reiss often wondered if the woman didn't wish she could have had more children, but the Maker was cruel and cut her off as soon as she got going.

"You know," Alistair spoke up, "she's gonna need some help and hands to hold her. If you want to take the baby for a bit, show her how to be as lady-like as our daughter who's sticking her finger into the placenta we need to burn..." At the sudden attention of her parents the princess snaked her fingers away and began to stare at the ceiling.

"I," Beatrice tipped her head in gratitude, "it would be my pleasure." She shuffled forward, Cailan clinging tight to her skirt as she moved to deposit Myra back in Reiss' arms. "You are very blessed. She is a beautiful baby."

"Thank you," Reiss said.

"Let's go children. I believe we can have one quick slice of cake before bed," Beatrice smiled.

"Weally?" the princess gasped, her lisp snapping back as joy overflowed off her face. Cailan tugged up and down on Beatrice's gown to register his own excitement.

"Yes," she smiled, wrapping both kids with her arms, "We have reason to celebrate your new sister." All joys and laughter, the three of them left the room to go ransack the larder.

Alistair snuggled against Reiss in the bed, both of them watching Myra stretched out upon her chest. There were so many what ifs ahead for the little girl. What would the court think? How would she be accepted not only here but within the streets of Denerim? Would she begin to look more elven with each year or always pass as human?

"I love you," Alistair breathed beside her. "If I was any happier rainbows would burst out of my belly button."

With one hand wrapped around her daughter, who would become whatever she wanted to be and whom Reiss would protect her regardless, she cupped her sort-of husband's cheek. "I love you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of the [Steven Universe soundtrack](https://play.spotify.com/album/3fNVnjSRQ3oW4PUIKvrThu?play=true&utm_source=open.spotify.com&utm_medium=open) dropping today I thought I'd share that I would often have Gregg's song _I Could Never Be_ about baby Steven in my head a lot while writing Cullen interacting with his son.
> 
>  
> 
> __  
> _Things start and things end and isn't it lovely in theory._  
> 


	17. Penance

_5 weeks old..._

 

Her voice hummed softly above the crackle of the fire, her boy's head twisting around to try and follow the sound while those amber eyes honed in on his mother. He got so into it, he kicked his little feet and twisted an arm, causing the blanket to slip off his stomach. Lana tried to pick back up the song as she tucked her wiggly son up into the warm wool. As winter loomed colder than they thought possible, Lana would often sit in the kitchen by the great hearth to keep both herself and her son warm.

Cullen noticed her trekking down there, sometimes in the middle of the night thanks to their boy deciding play time was best by moonlight, and moved the comfier chair into the kitchen. A few of the servants drifted in and out, nodding at the mother and trying to catch a glimpse of the bright eyed baby before sadly having to get back to work. Even as she was enraptured with the bundle in her arms, she'd on occasion stir a pot or yank a potentially burning pan out of the fire.

A little gurgle broke from the boy and she glanced down to catch a very tiny lift of his lips. "Are you smiling?" she asked, her own stretching wide from the possibility. At the attention of his mother, he smacked his lips together and then blew a giant bubble. Lana laughed at the antics and tried to wipe his messy face off.

"Well, you'll get it next time," she said, lifting her boy up to her lips to kiss him on the cheek.

The kitchen door blew open and a giant's silhouette nearly crammed the entryway shut. Lana's breath caught, her fingers almost dipping into the veil, when a very familiar and very loud voice shouted, "Where's the baby?!"

Hawke stepped into the light, looking far more wild than she had in recent years. Her hair had returned to a few random jagged cuts, then knotted back to try and tame it, and she wore tight but padded armor. The last time Lana saw her she was in a Maker given dress of all things.

The Champion stared around the room in a tizzy, then honed in on the baby in Lana's arms. "Is that...?" she gasped.

"There aren't any other babies around so I certainly hope so," Lana smiled at her cousin.

Falling to her knees, Hawke bunched her face up closer to the infant that was carefully eyeing up this stranger. Her finger slowly drifted out towards the baby as if she thought he might try to bite it off, when another pair of silhouettes appeared in the door -- both male. Lana caught the pinched face of her husband as he was no doubt trying to catch his breath after failing to catch a runaway Hawke. After wiping the sweat of a winter sprint from his forehead, Cullen smiled at his wife, then his eyes drifted over to the other person that joined their little party. In the line of people her husband would let live but only because his wife asked, this man probably sat at the top.

Anders looked like shit. She probably shouldn't think it and certainly wouldn't say it, but it was the truth. Time, or perhaps his lifestyle choice, had worn down what had once been a lithe, debonair attitude to gaunt leeriness. His head pivoted around, searching for anyone or anything about to clap him back in irons. While the eyes seemed to have faded to a duller brown, and he'd abandoned his feathery coat for something with fur, he still kept that same small blonde ponytail.

"Look, it's a baby!" Hawke shouted in pure ecstasy.

"Gavin," Lana said, her face full of soft smiles at the joy in her cousin. Cullen slid closer to his wife, his hands trying to wring out the knots in her shoulders as he stared down at their named son. The ceremony was simple but beautiful, performed in the small village chantry that could at most seat ten people. Mia stood there on the last day before she returned home, grinning wide and proud of her nephew and brother, along with all the people who worked in the abbey that could manage to get away. She'd never thought much of the tradition, but Cullen cared, and standing before Andraste declaring to the world that this was their child was a moment she'd treasure forever.

Hawke scuttled nearer, her single finger reaching over to boop the baby on the nose. Gavin giggled at that, his hands swiping over to try and get her to do it again. Of course, the mighty Champion and slayer of Qunari giggled in response. She stared wide eyed at this tiny thing in complete awe.

"He's got his momma's smile," she observed.

"Does he?" Lana tried to tip her boy around to face her, but he was having too much fun with this new plaything.

"Course, look at that. It's all teeth, would be teeth if there were any. Thank the Maker too. No offense and all Curly," she snickered, easily throwing around Varric's nickname for Cullen. "But you are Captain Dour when it comes to smiling."

He tipped his head, his fingers curling around their son's cheek. The attention of his father drew those amber eyes right up to Cullen who gave his beautiful, hard-fought smile in response, "None taken. I'd much rather he grin like his mother. Laugh like her."

"Bet he gets the sneer though," Hawke chuckled. Then she paled, "Oh Maker, do you think he'll get...everything with the sneer?"

At that the father glowered, and both women broke into laughter. "Honey eyes," Lana snickered while cupping his whiskery cheek. "You can't stop the march of time, nor that..."

"I can burn every blighted copy of that [sketch](http://voidtakeyou.tumblr.com/post/157838461657/voidtakeyou-apparently-theres-this-cheeky) I find, however," Cullen grumbled to himself, his hands crossing against his chest. Maker, she shouldn't prod him but he should stop being so adorable while stewing over it.

After pressing a quick kiss to her husband's sneering lips, Lana's eyes wandered over to the vagabond standing limply in the doorway. "You may come over and see," she said to Anders.

"That..." He bounced up a moment, as curious as Hawke looked, but Cullen's eagle glare winnowed down on the mage who set the world on fire and Anders shrunk back, "I'm fine here. Someone's got to keep the door frame from collapsing." Lana knew it wouldn't be easy having Anders here, but she didn't think it'd be this hard right out of the gate.

"Look," Hawke shouted, breaking the two mages and templar from glaring around each other, "he's got tiny little fingers!"

"Yes, he does," Lana chuckled. "Ten, in fact."

"How are they so teeny? Look at them!" she fanned out the boy's hand, letting it grip onto her finger to inspect the razor sharp nails better. "Gavin Amell Rutherford," Hawke mused.

"Ah, it's Gavin Grayson Rutherford," Lana corrected quickly, her eyes dashing around the kitchen to make certain no one else was there.

"What?" The goofy aunt fell away to reveal the terrifying woman who stopped an invasion, and all her vitriol was aimed at Cullen. "What happened to Amell? Mother's name, it's important." Her voice dropped lower into what some would probably call the pants-wetting range.

"Hawke," Lana tugged on her arm, trying to get the giantess to break away from her husband before things got messy. "I can't use it, remember. In hiding."

She blinked a moment then sighed and ran her hand through her shaved section of hair. "Right, hiding. Shame though. Amell's a good name to have."

Lana reached around to hold onto her cousin, the only one in her family she ever really got to know outside of moldy memories. "He'll know who he is and where he comes from."

"Comes from?" Hawke twisted her head around, "Yer gonna give 'em the this bit goes into that bit and out pops a baby talk now? Ain't he a little young?"

"For the love of..." Lana cupped her forehead, feeling the familiar headache that came from her spending too much time with her cousin.

That drew such a great enough laugh to Hawke that she slapped her knee and turned back to face Anders. "I forgot how squeamish my cousin is about the dirty bits."

"I am not," Lana rose up to defend herself, but there was little point in it. Switching gears, she shifted in her seat, "Hawke, would you like to hold the baby?"

"M-m-me...? You, you trust me to-to carry something that fragile?" Her cocksure grin flopped into a terror grimace, the Champion's skin paling to a stricken grey as she stared at the rather happy baby.

"He's full, been changed fairly recently, and seems to think you're funny." Lana tried to shift the bundle over, but Hawke kept her arms crossed.

"What if I...I drop him, or-or pinch something, or try to use him to pick up something hot?!" the panic in her face was almost adorable. Lana'd walked the deep roads for weeks with only Hawke and Anders facing every manner of darkspawn those tainted creatures could throw at them and she'd never seen her so terrified. Gavin, unaware of the pressure he could produce, was smiling like mad and gurgling more spit bubbles.

"Try to refrain from doing any of those things, in particular picking up hot things with a baby, and you'll be fine." Lana rose to her feet, and before Hawke could argue, dropped Gavin into her arms.

She locked her hands in tight, but Lana moved them, "He's not a greatsword, you don't need a death grip to keep him from falling, just... There ya go. Hold the head, support his bottom and you're good."

Hawke took a few more breaths, her arms softly bouncing with the weight of the boy. "Good, good, you're good?" She risked staring down at Gavin who was enraptured with his mother being so close. Those little hands that just began grasping for things tried to reach over at her face. Lana laughed at her curious boy and blew a gentle raspberry against his cheek. That got even more happy gurgles, his lips stretching wide in a joyful smile. Hawke was right, there was no way that was Cullen's.

"Hey," the Champion whipped her head over at Anders, "look, I'm holding a baby. And no one's crying yet."

The man slid closer to his love, a hand skirting over her back as he dared to let himself get nearer to the boy. "You are, and it is a true miracle of Andraste."

"He really is," Hawke cooed, all her focus on the baby as Anders watched her. They hadn't spoken much while traveling the deep roads, Lana still spitting hot tacks at his betrayal and Anders seeming to regret it. That fact threw her so much, she wasn't certain what to do. Old Anders she knew. He'd have laughed it off, claimed that a dragon can't change its scales and if she were a better Commander she'd have known he'd run off. But this one was quieter, the brashness brushed down to only an occasional prick. It bothered Lana then and unnerved her now how much he changed from Justice.

Lana reached over and cupped Anders' elbow, a small move, but the mage jumped a moment as if he feared the tiny woman would hurl him to the wall. Technically she could, but she'd need to rip apart the veil first. "We should talk," Lana whispered to him, "I have something to show you."

"That..." his wild eyes darted over to the templar in the room, then back to his lover who was enraptured in adorable baby land.

"It won't be more than a minute," Lana assured him.

Anders remained wary, his fingers all but scratching against the veil out of habit. It was so distracting to the mage who felt his tugging, she wanted to reach over and bundle his hands up to get it to stop. Sighing once, he nodded his head, "All right, but you might want to be careful that Hawke doesn't abscond with your baby."

"She'll be..." Lana smiled, when Gavin kicked his leg, dropping a bootie to reveal his naked foot.

"Sweet Maker!" Hawke cried, her fingers lifting the baby's foot higher, "He has tiny toes!"

"Okay," Lana shifted, visions of a distracted Champion wandering off with their child drifting through her thoughts. "Cullen, you can stop Hawke from stealing our baby."

He picked up the lost bootie and moved to add it back before Gavin got cold. Smiling at his son, he whispered, "Of course." Then he drew back and eyed up the muscles prodding out from the Champion's far too open winter wear. Gulping, Cullen softly tacked on, "I hope so."

After kissing a quick goodbye to her son and then husband, who was flocking around Hawke like a dedicated herding dog, Lana shifted out of the kitchen into the bitter cold of a southern winter. So many years out here she'd grown used to it, quick to wrap her cloak tight with one hand while the other clutched her cane, but Anders... The poor man had been up north too long. He blinked against the ice stinging on the wind then huddled his face deeper into his pauldrons, as if that would help.

Taking as quick a step as she could manage, Lana led the man up to her potions room. It'd been quiet as of late. With an infant she barely had time to sneak in and get the cruets bubbling. And sometimes when she tried, Cullen would stand in the doorway and sigh about how they had other hirelings to do the work. The first few times he couldn't get her to give up on her idea so he used the dirty trick of bringing their son along. An adorable, cooing baby pulled her from it every time.

The light rose as she parted fire against each candle and then turned to watch Anders cautiously close the door. His cornered eyes darted around the tiny room once again hunting for anyone that was in hiding to capture or attack him. Lana folded her arms and sighed, "You have nothing to fear here."

"In a place surrounded by templars, I have nothing to fear?" he mirthlessly laughed and then snorted. "Do you also place meat upon the dog's snout and assume it won't be eaten?"

"If the dog's been told and trained not to, it's not really a problem," she cut back with, already exhausted from Anders. "Maker's sake, why would I go to the bother of having brought you here just to have you hauled off and killed?"

He lifted a shoulder, the man who'd been on the run his entire life sighing, "Anything's possible, Commander. Though, you'd have to get through me and Hawke first."

Something in his cocky tone struck her and Lana spun her hands, the veil parting as if she breathed it, "You really think you can over power me?"

"Hard to say. Hawke kept stopping us before we ever found out," he struck back with and she spotted their old friend cracking out of his skin.

"Blessed Andraste, Anders. Call off Justice. It was a joke," Lana shook off her limp spell that would have only curled his hair. She was almost sad to give it up, he'd look rather hilarious with golden ringlets.

"Why am I here, then?"

She didn't remember that chip on his shoulder. They didn't quite run in the same circles in the Circle, especially with Anders pulling a runner all the time. She was the sweet, devoted to chantry law type, while he was more or less forced through his Harrowing at age 16 because the templars wanted him to fail to get rid of him. Oops. But even as Anders bedded and charmed his way into and out of the Tower, he was never conceited about it. Back then everything ran off his back like water and now it seemed as if everything stuck instead.

"For this," Lana reached into her steel box and extracted out the potion she'd been working on for a week since receiving Hawke's note about a visit.

Anders stared the nondescript clear bottle up and down before he folded his arms, "For your sake I hope that's not a love potion. I know I'm irresistible, but Hawke can get a bit clingy and then very punchy. Sometimes kicky too."

She glared at him, not saying a word, but inside Lana was surprised. This was the first sign of old Anders she'd seen in years. Maybe there was some hope still. Tipping her chin at the bottle she said, "When I took over in Amaranthine, I didn't realize what I was agreeing to. The burden I had to fill everyone's blood with, the weight of it. I regret what I had to do, to all of them. To you."

Anders' eyes opened wide, his mouth falling slightly open in surprise. The bastard was always so certain he knew everything about everyone at a glance, but he never once thought Lana might regret her choices made in the heat of battle?

"This is my apology, I suppose. Your freedom from the taint. Though its effectivity seems to only last a year or so."

He blinked rapidly, eyeing with caution the bottle that would clear away the nightmares and the looming lone walk at the end. Anders stared over at her, his lips popping in thought before he spoke, "Only a year? Is this your way to keep me tethered to you, Commander? Always coming back so I don't die from the taint, giving you the perfect opportunity to keep tabs on me?"

Snorting, Lana rolled her eyes, "Well, I imagine Hawke's going to want to see her baby nephew grow up, and the way I hear it you're rather tethered to her now."

At that Anders shrunk, his fingers wiping across the stubble of his chin. Even with the hair obscuring it, Lana could make out a great scar below that didn't look like it healed well. She knew the promise he made Hawke, and that if he ever broke it and left her again, Anders had a lot more to fear than some old templars chasing after him.

"I'm working to make the potion last longer, which you will also receive if that happens. For the time being I'm afraid we're all tethered to this if we want to survive to see...our children grow." She tried to shake away the tears in her eyes quickly, but Anders had to see.

He spotted them once when they were in Amaranthine, the freshly appointed scary Warden Commander suffering a breakdown in the armory. It was over something foolish and unimportant. No, it was because she'd had the entire mess of a failing arling and talking darkspawn dropped on her head with nary a friend in sight. It broke her, as sad as that was, and who should stroll in to find her weeping on the ground but the smart-ass mage? He'd made a few biting comments, which reminded her a bit of Alistair funny enough, then slugged her in the shoulder and told her it'd be okay. Either they'd get out of this mess or all wind up dead. It wasn't any reason to go crying over.

"Why are you giving this to me?" Anders whispered, dragging Lana from her memory. "I...there didn't seem to be much love lost between us."

She was angry with him, his abandoning her and their cause the second it grew rocky. And, in some ways, even more angry when she learned that he'd stayed by Hawke's side. What was it about her cousin that was so much better than Lana? Meeting Hawke helped answer that question a bit, but the fact of it still stung.

"I don't hate you Anders," Lana confessed. He scoffed a moment, his eyes rolling. "Do not take that as saying I forgive your choices. But I know you. I knew you'd run because that's what you do, what you've always done. I tried to not take it personally. Didn't you ever wonder why no Grey Wardens tried to come and collect you?"

Anders shrugged, "As if Grey Wardens were going to let an abomination into their ranks."

"We had a few for a time, actually. It didn't end well, but...there was an avvar mage with a spirit of wisdom in her head. That was an interesting year," she confessed, the man gasping in greater shock. Did he really think none of them would have understood? They knew him, knew Justice, and Lana had a habit of forging her own path regardless of what the First Warden thought. "I let you go. I gave you your freedom. Granted, then you turned around and started a holy war upon the mages, so..."

"I did it for the mages," he spat back, "for people like us, who could be free to fall in love with whomever they want, have children to raise without the chantry stealing them away. Maker's breath, how do you not fear every day that one of the templars here won't rip your baby out of your arms?"

Anders was clearly looking for a fight, but Lana didn't rise to it. She shuddered in a breath and admitted, "Who says I don't? It doesn't change what you did, the innocents you slaughtered for your means."

"Innocents," he snickered. "What of your husband, father of your child, imprisoner of mages and Maker knows what else?" That earned him a snarl, Lana well aware of what Anders wasn't saying with his implications. "Do you know how many innocents he harmed with his devotion to the chantry?"

"Yes," Lana breathed, causing Anders to blink. The certainty in his eyes faded at that as if he was so certain that she'd ignored everything in Cullen's past for her own needs. "We all have blood on our hands: you, Cullen, me, even Hawke. None of us are clean."

"So this is..." He clasped a hand to his forehead, seeming to lose his trail of thought. Justice's influence or too much time barely surviving in the wilds? "Then why? Why bring this up?"

"To tell you that I don't approve of what you did, of the choice you stole from Kirkwall, eliminating a chance for peace, but..." Lana sucked in a breath, "I am in someways no better. I stole from you your life, your future. Even if in doing so I saved it. That's what this is. A way to try and make up for my damage."

Anders mouth dropped open, breath whistling through his teeth as his palm skirted around the bottle. "Then, it really will cure the taint?"

"Of course. Did you think it was poison or something?" Lana rolled her eyes, "If I intended to poison you I could come up with ten better ways off hand that wouldn't require you to willingly drink it." She stared down at the liquid that gifted her her son, Alistair his daughter, and a whole lot of questions on their horizon. They could fight back, but it may take all of her strength to keep going.

"It's funny, but your running away from the Wardens," she drummed her fingers on her counter, terrified of the thought that often rattled in her head, "it was the only thing that wound up saving your life. All of them, lost." She failed them all, every man and woman Lana took under her wing either flocked to Corypheus' side for his mad plans or was turned by Clarel. "I was the worst leader you could have been stuck with."

"Sigurin," Anders spoke, his head bowed. Lana narrowed her eyes, suddenly aware that she'd let a tear slip free. He licked his lips and then turned to her, "She's still alive, or was a few years ago. I bumped into her in the deep roads, still as chipper and death happy as ever."

Lana smiled at the memory of the dead dwarf that kept somehow surviving much to her chagrin. There'd been no one on her return from Seheron, no hint that Sigruin must have taken to the deep roads on her own before Corypheus took them all.

"Commander," Anders reached over and picked up her hand. He felt cool to the touch, but began to warm rapidly in her grip.

Snickering at his patronizing name for her, Lana sighed, "You can stop calling me that. I gave up the foolish mantle long ago."

"I don't call you Commander to poke fun," Anders swallowed, the man looking more uncomfortable with every word. "You deserve it. The title, the prestige. Whatever comes with all that. I know I'm not a joy to deal with, even before I merged a spirit with my soul. But you took a chance on me, gave me my freedom with only a verbal promise to remain, which I broke. I didn't regret leaving the Wardens, and I'd do it over again and again, but I did wish I hadn't hurt you in the process."

Lana stared into his deep brown eyes expecting to find Justice's sense of duty shimmering from within but all she could see was Anders. Was it age that finally caught up to him or the pain of watching the entire world flounder from his actions? "Thank you," she shook their conjoined hands.

"You're welcome, and you swear none of the templars here are going to drag me out back and try to string me up by the neck?" For a brief window the old Anders spark glittered in his eyes.

"Well, no one knows you're here, save Cullen whom you must have taunted often in the Gallows because I think he hates you more than Ali, and that's impressive. Still, I wouldn't go running around screaming about mage oppression at the top of your lungs unless you want to start a fight." She meant it as a laugh but then leaned close to him and in her Commander voice hissed, "Do not start a fight."

"Got it," Anders nodded, cowed by the tiny woman who hobbled to get around. He picked up the bottle and twisted it around. "Does it hurt when you take it?"

"There's a light headed feeling, you may lose a day sleeping it off, but then freedom. No more nightmares or hunger. However, be careful to avoid any, um, unexpected accidents."

He blinked a moment, then lifted up a smile at the idea, "Commander, did they fail to tell you about the birds & the bees in the Circle? I swear, I thought we all got the same harrowing tale of disease and ruin from that man who was nothing but fat rolls."

"Ha ha," she rolled her eyes, "but I'm serious. Something in it makes people extra fertile."

Anders laughed, "I doubt that will be a problem seeing as how Hawke's got a good five or so years on you." He shook his damn cocksure head again, then blinked, the idea finally striking his airy head, "How long did you wind up pregnant after taking it?"

"Four months for me, but with Reiss she was knocked up in under one. So..."

That gave him pause again. So many years of nothing and then two women with full wombs in a narrow timeframe was rather terrifying. Lana had no clue what ignited their fertility but it must be powerful. Shaking his head, Anders chuckled, "No, not Hawke. With her life, she would never..."

Suddenly, the potions door threw open and Hawke shrieked at the top of her lungs, "Did you know babies can sneeze?!" Little Gavin blinked in concern while trapped in the loud woman's arms, but seemed generally content.

Chuckling at her, Lana slid forward and tried to mop up the line of snot her son sprayed out of his nose. "Yes, they can do everything people can, within some reason." He was so beautiful, those amber eyes focusing on his mother and the thick lips lifting into a great smile at her nearness. It surprised her nearly every time she stared at her baby. How can the Maker create something this adorable?

"Maker's sake," Cullen gasped, skidding in behind Hawke and clutching to his side. "How in the void do you move so fast?"

"Long legs," Hawke said with total sincerity before glancing down at them. "Are you gonna have long legs?" she returned to the baby. "Oh, shit," her voice lifted so fast from its baby talking nasally tone to crushing seriousness nearly everyone snapped to attention, "does he have the Amell birthmark too?"

"Amell...?" Cullen asked, trying to squeeze his hands down below Hawke's arms in the off chance she suddenly dropped their son.

"You know," she tipped her head back and forth, "Lana's got hers on her neck, mine's right across my..." Hawke moved to point at her ass, but Anders cut her off.

"I don't think they need to know about that."

"What? Cuz here's seen it," she elbowed Lana in the ribs, Gavin giggling as he undulated in the Champion's arms. "Remember the thorn patch."

That earned a deep groan from Lana, memories of her wild year with her new found cousin flashing back. "Far too well."

"And Bethy's mark. She got hers on her..."

"Hawke!"

"On her arm, right underneath kinda near her armpit," the woman blinked in confusion at the people rounding on her. "What'd you think I was gonna say?"

Lana waved her hand then shifted closer to her boy, "Never mind. He does have a mark, not as large as mine. I didn't realize it was a family trait." She unbuttoned a small section of pajama directly over Gavin's stomach. "Right beside his belly button." The baby giggled at his mother smoothing her fingers over the dark patch of skin that could almost be confused for a larger mole.

"Does that look like a crown to anyone?" Hawke asked, her eyes squinting.

"What?" Cullen dashed forward staring at his son's belly as if he'd never seen him before.

"Nope, that's a cactus. Had it upside down," the woman smiled at the mother before glancing back at Cullen's panicked face. "Don't go telling me you think there's some fancy prophecy with these? Ain't like Lana here became known for raising flowers. I think that's what that is."

"That..." his honey eyes softened a beat while staring at Lana's, but she knew the fear in his heart. The idea of his son having anything to do with the crown or the Theirin family put him in a tizzy. She suspected in Cullen's mind their boy would become the farmer he never was. A simple, quiet life with few chances of torment and demons. She didn't have it in her to voice that with their blood, it was highly unlikely their child would live anything simple.

Nestled in his aunt's arms, Gavin made a few more gurgles, his hands slapping together in what might one day be considered a clap. "Oh," Hawke buried her nose tight to that little tummy and cooed, "whatza matter? You want to become some great hero and you're worried your dad'll stop you? Just call on ol' auntie Hawke. I'll get you the really big sword."

"There is a chance the child will be a mage," Anders spoke up. He stared defiantly at Cullen, as if daring the ex-templar to insist no son of his would ever be a dangerous, impure mage.

Cullen cupped his hand around Gavin's head, smoothing down the strings of dark hair that kept appearing with every day. "A very powerful mage, indeed," he smiled at his son before turning to Lana. She knew he'd always love his son no matter what came, but trusting him with that kind of power might be a challenge. Still, it did her heart good to watch Cullen easily accept the possibility, and to turn and catch Anders crumbling as his little barb failed to hurt.

"So," Hawke glanced around, "a sword staff then? Your cane staff's pretty sweet too. No one sees it coming." Gavin lifted his lips into a big smile, a focus rising to his eyes. "You like that? A shiny cane like your Mommy to take down bad guys and...Oh."

Hawke began to dangle the baby off her extended arms, Gavin kicking his legs in the ain as a tell tale odor wafted from his backside. "I think he made a little stinky. Big stinky. Maker's sake, what are you feeding him?"

"Here," Cullen scooped up his son out of Hawke's arms, "I'll handle it."

While he tipped his head up to get a not feces scented breath of air, Lana called out, "The clean nappies are..."

"By the fire, I know," Cullen nodded and then vanished out the door with their main source of entertainment.

"Too damn cute," Hawke muttered to herself as father and son dashed down the stairs to find a change of pants, "aside from the other end, but not many are lucky enough to get that part to be cute."

"A few do," Anders cut in, sliding his arm around Hawke's back.

The Champion laughed with her full spirit as she did with everything, then bonked her forehead to Anders. They'd been loving but distant when Lana first ran into them in the deep roads. Something had changed, Hawke more willing to wrap Anders up in her arms and the man happier to give it back. Fearing the one you loved had died or was beyond your reach was an eye opener. One she knew far too well.

After she finished staring in rapture at her gaunt mage, Hawke glanced over and in a slightly colder voice asked, "Did you two have a good talk up here, or..."

"Yes, love," Anders cut in first. He turned from her to stare at Lana and a tender smile broke against his face. "It was a good one."

"Got everything out in the open like? Now we can all be best friends forever?"

Lana coughed at the idea, "Let's not go that far."

"She's nowhere near as bad as the elf," Anders said under his breath. Lana had no idea who he meant, but his avoidance of a name and all but spitting the placeholder told her enough.

Hawke laughed at that, "Good, 'cause I want to see my little Gavin when I can and last thing I need to deal with is you two threatening to fist each other."

"I, uh..." Lana blanched, whipping her head first to Hawke who meant every word, then to Anders who was angrily blushing, "Do the what?"

"Forget it," Anders waved his hand. The sneer broke as his eyes turned over to the bottle Lana gifted him, the one that could change his future in ways he'd never thought possible. "Hawke?" She stared down at him, waiting for Anders to work up the nerve to ask what seemed blisteringly obvious. "Do you...want children?"

"Are you kidding me?" Hawke gasped. "I've got Varric to take care of, and he's like having triplets inside of one body. No thank you." A breath of relief escaped from Anders, the man all but folding in half at not facing the yoke of progeny. "Nah, all I want is to tickle 'em, give raspberries on tummies, then hand 'em over to Dad when they fill their drawers."

At that pronouncement, Hawke beamed a wide smile at Lana. She was ecstatic to be the somewhat eccentric Aunt for Gavin, and Lana was grateful for it. The Champion was the last family Lana ever expected to find or want, but she was blessed for having her in her life. Suddenly, the smile dimmed and an almost sheepish Hawke butted her forehead against the side of Anders' cheek to whisper, "What about...? You don't want to, um...?"

"No, I'm content with you. And on occasion seeing your nephew," he added, tipping his head to Lana. As she accepted his gratitude, Anders scooped the bottle into his hands off the counter and placed it safely into his pocket. So many of her people she failed. It felt uplifting to save even just one of them.

"Now that that's settled, there's a baby that I have to tickle and then teach how to swing a sword," Hawke rubbed her hands together then began to stomp out the door to find Cullen and Gavin.

"That, uh..." Lana tried to race after, but the woman's great gait made it hard, "he's not capable of holding anything yet!"

"Give it up, Commander. When Hawke's got her heart set on something..."

Lana ducked her head down and laughed, "The fade itself shifts to make it so. Come on, you and Cullen can trade glares about the plight of mages over dinner."

The man who started the rebellion, who destroyed a chantry, and had a spirit of justice merged into his soul smiled at her. She should hate him, she could, but he was one of hers and always would be. "What are we having?"

"Stew," she admitted, "Oh, and those little cookies that they used to serve in the tower for dessert."

Anders laughed at that, "You know, that may be the only thing I liked about the Circle."


	18. Legitimate

_3 weeks old..._

 

Normally, he'd pace about the room while people bickered over vitally important things like the proper configuration for tying their shoes but the quiet bundle in his arms required Alistair to plop into his throne. He did keep one leg up on the arm rest though; there was still that reputation of his to maintain.

"So, you and Bann Gillian were both promised the same strip of land?" Alistair spoke to the court. He'd managed to avoid all the crown stuff for a little while officially on account of the holiday, but more because people didn't trust their King with any important decisions while running on so little sleep. Alas, even the leader of the country couldn't hide from work forever. He was too big to fit inside the cupboard.

"That's correct, Your Majesty," Bann Rian tipped lower. "Our Arl had entrusted to me and my holdings any land upon the west bank of the river in the year 7:97."

"Which is a load of horse shit and you know it, Rian," Gillian shouted from her little stand. A throng of people flocked both, the underlings passing up information and generally trying to look as intimidating as one could in those stupid little red hats that were all the rage. "This was before the occupation, which renders everything null and void under the articles of..."

Her voice faded away to background as Alistair caught a tiny flash of green prodding up from below the blankets. Myra'd been asleep for the entire ass crushing proceedings, only the occasional smack of her toothless lips letting on that he held a baby in his arms and not stolen laundry. Now she peered up in curiosity watching her Daddy do the thing he hated but was apparently the only person in thedas that could manage to do it.

"Sire...Sire?" Gillian shrieked louder, her hands flapping to get his attention.

"Unless a bee just flew up your sleeve, I think you can lower your arms," Alistair snickered.

The Bann sneered but did as commanded. He nodded his thanks then shifted Myra to the other arm in order to get blood flow back. That set Gillian off, the woman fuming and trying to whisper to the people behind her, but in her rage and thanks the acoustics of the hall everyone heard her groan, "Unbelievable!"

Alistair sat up higher at that, "What was that?"

She dug her pale hands into the pillar behind her, no doubt wishing it was his neck, but spat out, "Nothing, your Majesty."

"Are you sure, because it seems like you really want to tell me something that's weighing on your mind," he tipped Wheaty up to his shoulder and let her cute little face begin to gnaw all over the royal finery. The blanket slipped away revealing her soft head and the wash of blonde hair. Nearly every eye in the place suddenly peered close at the baby. It wasn't until he took to patting her back that he realized they weren't trying to see how adorable she was but to get a look at her ears.

Yup, human-ish. Her eyes were gigantic, but Alistair figured that'd work to her advantage. It sure did melt his heart every time he slipped in to walk her around the castle. The rest of her was all baby; teeny, tiny, precious, and very pink. He forgot just how pink they got.

"Sire, I..." Bann Rian stepped forward, the calmer of the two who'd been arguing for the past hour over a scrap of land that couldn't even feed one cow. "Perhaps it is in everyone's best interest if you, um..."

"If I what?" Alistair sounded perfectly innocent, his hand patting into his daughter's little butt to bounce her up and down against his chest.

"It's only that the distraction in your, that is, I mean," the guy danced around not saying what he was clearly aching too.

Bann Gillian spun around and spat out, "Have you even listened to a word anyone's said?!"

Alistair paused in soothing his little Wheaty and glared over at the pair of them. "You, Gillian, are upset because Rian, your neighbor for Maker as long as Calenhad got everyone to stop fighting with each other in order to form this country, has suddenly lain claim to a piece of land you couldn't give two shits about. Which is why you're here fighting tooth and nail to get it back, because he suddenly wants it. So the only question really being unspoken here is what's on it; gold, ore, precious jewels, or was it some ancient ritual site where blood mages sacrificed demons?"

The two Bann's eyes shot open wide at his not only paying attention but getting right at their problem. As if he hadn't seen this kind of shit over and over before. "And you better not be raising any blighted dead out there Rian because we're low on templars and the knights are not fans of dealing with revenants."

"No, your Majesty," Rian all but fell to the floor to beg for forgiveness, "I swear, there is no...nothing of the sort."

"Right, good," Alistair nodded. "Then the Treaty of River Dane only negates any holdings transferred by Orlesian houses of power. Seeing as how both of you lay claim to Fereldens and those who cozied up to the occupiers the original deal still stands."

It took a moment before Gillian sneered at her loss, she was still trying to hide the shame of her grandparents being on the side of the Orlesians, same as Rian. As the fact he won struck, the man smiled wide. "Thank you, your Majesty, for your fair ruling."

"And," Alistair cut him off, returning to bouncing his baby girl, "with the rumors swirling of dark magics on the land, I don't think you'll mind if the crown takes a little look-see around just to make sure. Without the templar order, it's our job to protect you from any potential undead and demons."

"That, um," Rian gulped, his eyes drifting to the side where the real brains behind his new operation sat.

"Of course, should the knights stumble across any new and previously undiscovered valuables they'll be certain to secure away the fair amount for any taxes you may owe." Alistair grinned right at his crumbling face, then he turned his focus fully upon the bright green eyes staring at her little fist, "Isn't that right, Wheaty? I think it is."

The baby made a little crinkle of her nose and then returned to dripping her personal brand of drool down the front of his shirt. Maker take him, but he missed that feeling. "Well, I think we're done here," Alistair looked up and caught Karelle's eye. She waved towards the guards to helpfully guide both a distraught Gillian and Rian out the door. "Who's next?" he asked towards Karelle, just as the absolute last person Alistair wanted to see edged up to the complaining podium.

It had some fancy and ancient name in Tevene with lots of extra secret letters, but that's what it really was. His various citizens would walk up to the thing, cough, then proceed to blame him for everything that ever went wrong in their lives up to and including the boil on their ass. It almost made Alistair wish he had the power to grant boils; there'd be a lot more people unable to sit down. This man in particular came for every court and always with the same three complaints: His neighbor was far too loud (which was impressive as he lived near the blighted cemetery). He tried to purchase some good from some store (the details rotated by the week) and either found it rotten or broken. And, finally, he really hated all the young people. Why couldn't the King have a war or something to clear them out?

The man shuffled up and banged his hand on the podium when the doors opened and the only person Alistair wanted to see came streaking past the court. Reiss had on one of his tunics, barely belted so it almost looked as if she still had the baby inside her. She cast a quick glance at the complaining man who glared at the elf (Oh yes, he often complained about the elves doing elfy things as well), then dashed down the aisle towards the King. About midway towards him, Reiss' cheeks lit up in a blush as she must have realized how it looked and the woman turned towards Karelle.

The Chamberlain feigned listening as the elf shouted at the King through her, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Being yelled at by my citizens, pretty typical Wednesday," Alistair shot back with a smile.

He expected a laugh but Reiss gritted her teeth, "Why is Myra here?"

"To see Daddy at work," Alistair chuckled before placing a soft kiss to her little forehead. He couldn't wait for when she started smiling. Making his kids giggle was often the only reason Alistair got out of bed.

"For all the...and you let him?" Reiss turned on Karelle, who hadn't said much about the King sitting down with his child.

Karelle eyed up the audience, then whispered, "This is not really the proper place for you two to be having a discussion. Any discussion."

"She's right," Reiss deflated even if she looked like she wanted to have a few go's at Alistair right there in the throne room.

Cupping Wheaty closer to his chest, Alistair rose from the chair and announced, "I'm taking a quick break. There are refreshments in the lobby, might be a good time to take a visit to the bushes if you have to. Bye."

"Sire..." Karelle tried to wave him off, but he was already trailing towards the little side chamber. Quick on his heels was Reiss, the woman scowling deeper with every step.

Inside, Alistair found a couple clerks who were trying to toss quills up into the ceiling. "Could you excuse us?" he asked, making no mention of the dozen or so feathers jammed up in the rafters. As the clerks scuttled away, he buried his face against Myra's while Reiss slammed the door and glared.

"What in the blighted void of the Maker's ass cheek do you think you're doing?" He bit down on the sarcastic response because when Reiss reached such a swear level that they weren't even making sense he knew it was bad. "I wake up to discover my baby's gone. I think, oh, maybe one of the girls took her for a little walk, or she was crying and annoyed someone. Then I find out her father carried her into the throne room, sat down in it, and proceeded to parade her about in front of every Bann and Arl in Denerim!"

"Am I missing something? What's the big deal?" Alistair shook his head.

"The big deal? The big deal?! Blessed Andraste, give me strength." Reiss prayed to the wall with a stuffed bobcat head on it before whipping back to him, "You keep trying to legitimize her. You can't do that."

"Why not?" he blinked, fully lost beyond measure while his baby slipped down to be rocked in his arms.

"She's..." Reiss rose up on her toes in order to glare into his eyes, "You're not this stupid. Are you playing with me? Is this one of your pretending to be dumb so people go away things, or...?"

Her anger abated a moment and he cupped her cheek. Sighing, Reiss stared down at their baby girl who was warm and happy next to her father. Alistair groaned, "I don't understand why it's a problem. She's my daughter."

"She's not the King's daughter," Reiss whispered. They'd had a rather easy time of it all things considered, Myra getting onto a schedule fast -- her mother's influence, no doubt -- and the castle chipping in when needed. Alistair adored stumbling across Reiss with their baby pressed to her breast while she tipped back and forth in the rocking chair. Or letting her nap in the day bed while he walked their baby back to sleep. It was bliss for him even if there was some serious sleep deprivation at times.

It wasn't until a few nobby noses started poking into their business that things began to fray. Eamon rolled out of retirement long enough to stop in and see the child. That must have set off some long dormant beehive as more people kept appearing outside the nursery just to see. See if the baby was real. See if she really did look so damn much like her father. See if she was an elf or not. See if it wasn't all some trick pulled by an elf trying to get back into the royal circle.

Now there were clucks trailing Reiss, which the woman shrugged off as she did so much more. They shut up when Alistair was with her, but he knew it was probably even worse when she was alone with their baby. Why did it all have to be so blighted complicated?

"Why does it matter?" he groaned to himself. "Spud will be Queen. We did all the fancy paperwork needed to cement that fact. Cailan after that. All the T's dotted, all the I's are crossed. It's set in stone for the Maker's sake. Not literally, though Spuddy wanted to stick a sword in one for some reason."

Reiss' hands curled up his neck, her touch slowing his babble. He blinked at her beautiful face, then leaned forward to kiss her. She returned it a moment before whispering, "Myra's not just your daughter, she's your bastard."

"So what? Am I supposed to toss her out to the wolves? Make her sleep in the kennels? Forget she exists until she's eighteen and suddenly we need her? I'm not doing it!"

"I know, Alistair," Reiss said. She pressed herself tighter to him for a hug. One hand skirted around their baby's back, the mother gently rubbing Wheaty's soft dress, while the other caressed him. "She's your baby girl. There's no changing that, no denying it. Look at that face."

"All I see is her breathtaking mother," he smiled, trying to fight through the pit in his stomach.

"That's because you're blinded by her eyes. That bone structure, that's all you."

"Poor kid," he muttered, tucking Myra up to plant a kiss to her forehead.

"She's beautiful," Reiss insisted through his grumping, though she was right. He was blessed with three beautiful children, not a weirdly shaped head or third arm in the bunch. "And she's a bastard."

"I hate that," Alistair sneered. Hated that it mattered. Hated that people cared. Hated how easily it was thrown around as if it was all this tiny baby's fault in how she came out.

"It doesn't have to sting if you don't let it," Reiss reached over to hold Myra and Alistair released his hold. She scooped her daughter into her arms, both proud parents gazing down at the vibrant eyes watching them. "So she's a bastard, so what? I don't care. You don't care. Only let into her life the people who don't care."

"Reiss..." he began.

"Don't," she shuddered in a breath, "Don't take her to court. Don't let them burn into her so early how wrong she is."

Alistair drew his fingers down that swath of thick blonde hair, "I wanted to hold her, to be with her. It's hard to leave her for even a second sometimes."

The woman who was his wife regardless of what any chantry said burrowed her nose into his neck. She sighed, a few tears dripping off her cheeks from the stress of a new baby plus having to deal with him. "I understand. And I get that too. Maybe, to a few meetings. If she's not being fussy and they don't mind. The Denerim ones, they're all used to me and her. But not court. Please. Let her, let her be Myra without the bastard tacked on the front, for a few months anyway."

"Okay," Alistair nodded, "I'll try. How are you doing?"

"Good. Up walking, eating normal. I don't have to face a massacre in my pants every time I go to the bathroom, so that's nice," she smiled through the pains her body endured while trying to return to normal.

He scooped his free hands around her, snuggling his face tight to her shoulder while his eyes peered down at the baby. All he could see in her was Reiss because all he could see was how damn beautiful she was. His little Wheaty. "I meant more about all of this stuff," he waved his hand to try and circle around the bureaucracy but it looked more like he was blaming books for attacking her.

"People are...I have a few friends here, and that's enough."

"Wasn't your agency group going to visit soon to pick at the new baby and probably use all their freaky mind tricks to determine what position we used to make her?"

Reiss blushed a moment at the idea, then a heart warming smile lifted her lips. "Tomorrow. I don't know how many are going to show, but..."

"I bet it'll be a packed house," Alistair grinned at her.

He curled tighter to her, his whole world expanding to let a new face in. Why did everyone have to make it so hard? For some reason he was able to tamp down on feeling like an imposter bastard on the throne with Spud and Radish in his arsenal. Perhaps it was because everyone accepted them as legitimate thanks to not knowing the truth and a good dash of willful ignorance. But his Wheaty, they didn't see a cute little baby, only a problem, a rock in the road to succession. Well, too bad for them. This was his daughter and she was going to be in his life even if it pissed off every Bann and Arl in Ferelden.

"I love you, both of you," Alistair whispered to them.

"I love you too," Reiss twisted in his grasp, about to kiss him, when she froze and sighed, "And I believe Myra shows her love by shitting in her drawers. If you'll excuse me..." She sighed, trying to shift the soggy bottom away from anything too expensive while Alistair laughed.

"Sire," Karelle dipped her head in to watch Reiss slipping out the back exit, "you're needed in court."

Honestly, he'd rather deal with a pile of baby poo than the walking turds out in the grand room. Sighing, he nodded, "Fine." Alistair paused and snickered, "Duty calls."


	19. Happy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The awesome image at the end was drawn by the wonderfully talented [Space_Aged](http://voidtakeyou.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Everyone tell her how amazing she is.

Lunet glowered at the baby cuddled in Reiss' arms as if she feared Myra was about to sprout tentacles and begin to slap her about the room. The rest of the group were far more supportive, the entire office filing into the nursery to get a good look at her baby. They appeared in the middle of Myra's nap, Reiss threatening to have them all disemboweled if anyone woke her. But at the sound of her mother's whispered threats, she stirred, her little fists pounding against the crib's pillow and Reiss lifted her for the entire agency to coo over.

Well, almost all.

"That's some fancy duds," Lunet eyed up the red dress with little blue buttons down the front, "for a baby that's gonna shit all over it."

"Spit up's the bigger problem," Reiss admitted. She sat down in her rocking chair and spun it around to face everyone. Hooking her hands under Myra's armpits, she let the little socked feet brush against her legs while showing off her pride and joy.

"Is that real silk?" Jorel asked, reaching out for the hem of Myra's outfit.

"What? Of blighted course it isn't. It's...I think linen, maybe cotton. I'm not a weaver," she groaned.

"This," Jorel tipped his bull-head towards a blanket that dangled off the crib, "this is made of silk?"

"Will someone tell me what's wrong with the dwarf?" Reiss asked, glaring around at her crew. Qimat glanced up from her knees; she'd been enraptured with the baby, the glint to her horns often catching Myra's eye. Whenever the flash of green trailed Qimat, the woman would clap and laugh.

"He's been working on his textile studies," the qunari woman didn't explain.

"Very poorly, I see," Reiss grumbled. She wished she could fold her arms to glare but they were still full of a baby that was dribbling down her little chin. Dabbing at it with the starry blanket, Reiss sighed, "Okay, what's really going on?"

Lunet rubbed her nose, "He thinks there has to be some great riches in here he can knick and sell off, what with this being the castle and all."

"For the love of," Reiss tipped her head back to stare at the ceiling. "There are no golden dipped booties, there aren't even any brass ones. All you'll find are some old baby clothes, a giant pile of nappies, an even bigger pile of soiled ones, and half of a mobile."

"Half?" Kurt spoke up, the first word he'd said beyond "hi."

Reiss chuckled at the memory, "Alistair tried to put it up but things didn't go according to plan. There's only about half of a dragon circling over Myra's head while she sleeps."

Every eye shifted over to see, sure enough, the front half of a dragon pivoting around in an elliptical oval off a wire while three stars instead of six trailed it. Reiss figured she'd fix the problem and get the back half up once she had a proper sleep and time to study the instructions. Breaking them away from the King's half failure, Reiss smiled, "So, who wants to hold the baby?"

She guided Myra into Qimat's arms first, the tiny infant not even the length of her forearm. The poor woman looked like she was carrying a primed grenade from how wide her eyes opened in fear and how gently she clung to the baby. Give her a few minutes, she'd get it down.

"I want to see her," Jorel tried to tug Myra down to his level, suddenly interested in the reason they came now that there were no secret jewels to be ferreted out hidden behind ancient passageways.

While the rest of her crew wandered around Qimat to stare down at that beautiful sunny face, Lunet nudged a shoulder into Reiss. "How's the rat doing up here?"

"Good, Lune. We're both doing good," Reiss smiled, trying to wave away her friend's concern. It was very misplaced. Despite her minor freak out about finding Myra in the middle of court, everyone had treated her well. She didn't move too much around the palace, but Karelle would swing by -- usually to try and corral the King, but she'd stay and talk with Reiss. And Renata was often sending finger foods up that could be eaten one handed while holding a fussy baby. For as strange as the situation was, the castle seemed to be rolling with it.

Only Lunet eyed her up cooly, her lip jutting out as she stared over at the baby. "Not even a hint of the point to her, is there? Think she'll pass?"

Reiss blinked, trying to shake off the indignation that her baby looking like an elf would in anyway be bad while also secretly hoping she did look more human than not. "I don't know. She looks an awful lot like her father."

"That don't worry you?"

"Just because you don't understand what I see in him doesn't mean that..." Reiss rolled her eyes at her friend and the teasing faded at the stricken look in Lunet's eye. "What is it?"

The woman who'd curse the Divine to her face -- though mercifully was never gifted the opportunity -- opened her mouth and then paused. Shaking her head she sighed, "Never mind." A smile raised up Lunet's lips, "You did good. As far as baby's go, that one's pretty cute."

"What, you thought I'd make something with three heads that spit fire?"

"I seen you when you're mad. Fire if we're lucky," Lunet snickered bringing a laugh to Reiss. She wanted to wrap an arm around her old friend, around all of them in a great hug. But that would be a bit awkward, especially with Jorel, so she maintained her boss distance.

Lunet unwrapped a lolly and stuck it into her mouth. She shifted it in her jaw a few times before asking, "You had any chance to take a peek at the case I sent up?"

At that Reiss laughed, "I'm lucky if I have time to pee, never mind pry into work matters."

"Fair enough," her friend nodded as if she expected that answer, but didn't want to hear it.

Reiss side eyed her, then asked, "How are things going in the agency? I haven't heard any..."

At that moment Myra's little mouth opened wide in a desperate cry for someone familiar to rescue her. "It wasn't me!" Jorel shouted, throwing both of his arms wide. Poor Qimat looked distraught as the baby she'd been entrusted with kept making a Maker awful noise.

"Here," Reiss reached over and scooped Myra into her arms. "She can get a bit fussy at times," she began to coddle Myra to her chest the same way Alistair would. Maker save her, but it seemed to work, the baby preferring to be vertical as often as possible. "Don't say anything smart, Lunet," Reiss shot over at her friend, well aware of what was about to come.

"I wasn't thinking nothing," Lunet swore but Reiss knew her far too well.

Settling into the chair, Reiss pried her baby off her shoulder to stare into those great green eyes and the abandoned tears clinging to her cheeks. "Oh, it's not so bad," she cooed, drying them off with the corner of the blanket. "We're all friends here." Myra's nose crinkled up, almost as if she was attempting a smile but couldn't get her lips to go. Or it might be the start of a sneeze, or a sign of pooping; she couldn't tell.

A head of shaggy black hair darted in through the room and a familiar sight dashed around the piles of legs to stop in front of Reiss. "Baby!" Cailan cried, already reaching out to cup Myra's stomach. For some reason he found her belly hilarious, in particular when the umbilical cord took its sweet time in falling off. He thought she was pooing out of her stomach, a fact endorsed by his sister that Alistair failed to stop. At this point the entire royal family was going to think Reiss did nothing but poop out of every one of her orifices.

"Is that...?" Jorel asked, suddenly shifting further away. His wild eyes glanced up at the others and they all seemed to come to the same conclusion, everyone taking a few steps back.

Reiss watched them a minute, shaking her head at acting as if the three year old had the plague. "Hello Cailan," she greeted the boy.

"Baby," he giggled, finding Myra endlessly fascinating. Often he'd curl up in Alistair's lap while the pair held her, both rocking away slowly. After Reiss would extract Myra, Alistair would increase the speed, getting even more laughs from his son. The princess was another matter entirely.

"That's the prince? Prince prince, as in prince of Ferelden?" Jorel continued, seeming to have troubles grasping that simple concept.

Reiss turned away from the boy poking a finger into Myra's belly to stare at her friends. At that moment, Beatrice entered and their wide eyed stares gave way to a near faint from the appearance of their Queen.

"My Lady," Kurt bowed first, and the rest began to follow suit. Even Lunet dipped her head down to Beatrice, but she shot her eyes over at Reiss with some accusation in them.

"Here you are," Beatrice honed in on her boy first. "I should have known. Oh, forgive me, I didn't realize you had guests. And so many interesting characters." The Queen's eyes landed upon Qimat who was having trouble getting her head anywhere near lower than the short woman. "Please stand, you need not go to such back breaking troubles on my account."

"These are my fellow Solvers," Reiss said, proud of her people.

"Ah, a visit to see the baby, which I assume is what my wayward son came to do as well."

"Mummy," Cailan tugged on her droopy sleeve, his mother leaning down. He grabbed onto her cheeks and whispered in her ear, "That's a baby."

"I know darling," she chuckled. "You require a doll quickly, you cannot keep disturbing Reiss like this."

"It's all right," Reiss shifted, not wanting to be the cause of the boy's pain, "I don't mind and Myra seems to enjoy it." She had to often remind Cailan to be gentle, but beyond that, her baby's eyes would open wide while watching this other smaller human laugh and dance around her.

"You are too kind," Beatrice tipped her head at Reiss then spun to her son, "Regardless, you are due for your nap. No, do not try to wheedle out of this. Say goodbye to everyone because we are off."

She had a good grip on her boy's hand. It took a moment for Cailan to realize there were people other than his mother, Reiss, and the baby in the room. Sheepishly, he dug his chin deep into the collar of his shirt and mumbled out a, "Bye." Then his eyes honed in on the baby and he demanded, "Have to give kiss bye bye!"

Beatrice looked exhausted but she acquiesced, "Very well."

After planting a slobbery kiss to Myra's cheek, Cailan skipped out on his mother's arm, singing a song about inch worms much to Beatrice's delight. In the wake of the Queen's retreat her group bowed their heads again and murmured more, "Your Majesties."

It wasn't until the door closed tight that all the heads snapped up and honed in on Reiss. "Was that the Queen queen?"

"Maker's sake. No, Jorel. There are a good dozen copies running around the palace grounds pretending to be Beatrice."

"She's not as tall as I would have expected," Qimat mused to herself.

"Never met a Queen before. Met a man who claimed to be the Queen of Antiva, but that was only on Thursday nights at the Pearl," Kurt whispered more to himself than anyone else.

It was Lunet who folded her arms and sighed, "Not like we all didn't know who the father was."

"Yeah, but...whenever A's in the agency he's just so not royal, you know," Jorel argued with Lunet.

"A man who can't find his mount with the bridle tied to his hands," Qimat agreed.

Reiss' arms began to give out and she snuggled Myra back into them. Her baby gave a bit of a fuss at missing out on all those funny shapes in front of her, but the kicking legs faded as sleep snuck back in. She'd had a big day.

"We should leave you be," Lunet said, catching on that the baby was going down for a nap.

"Nonsense," Reiss shook her head. "Let me put Myra to bed and then we can all get caught up in the solarium down the hall." She settled her baby onto her back, trying to trap her in place with a few stuffed griffins and pillows. Barely out and the kid was already doing everything she could to flip over onto her stomach.

"Is that smart?" Jorel asked, "Leaving her alone, I mean. What if something happens?"

"Trust me, she's got a powerful wail that can travel nearly across the castle. And I don't think she's old enough to get into the poison and dagger box yet," Reiss snickered. Her crew gathered around the crib, every eye watching her beautiful girl yawn before those bright green eyes slid away under her thin lids. To speed up the process, Reiss rocked the ingenious crib a bit, the cradle part swaying her baby off to the fade.

"Well," Lunet wrapped an arm around her shoulder, "we know one thing for sure, Rat. You certainly gave birth to the King's brat."

"I did," Reiss sighed.

 

* * *

 

She wasn't certain if it was the dribbles of water or the soft cry that shattered her sleep. Reiss stumbled to her feet off the small bed, wrapping a robe around her arms. She was to the door before she realized the baby's cry had already stopped. It took a few more fuzzy blinks until it dawned on her that the cries didn't come from the cradle beside her bed.

Tiptoeing out into the nursery proper, she spotted Myra propped up in a low metal bucket. Water streaked down her head, splattering that fine blonde hair tight to her scalp. Alistair was careful to tip her back to prevent any from getting into those big green eyes. "Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" he whispered to his daughter.

She bounced a bit, either agreeing or disagreeing with her father; it was often hard to tell. They wound up on the floor, Alistair's legs wrapped around the bucket while he used one arm to keep Myra in position as the other kept dribbling small bits of water onto her from a glass. As it glittered against the firelight, Reiss realized the man was using a crystal goblet to bathe his infant daughter. Of course he was.

Unaware of the luxury being spent upon her, Myra began to cry. "Shh," he tried to softly rock her back and forth but she wasn't having any of that, "you're going to wake your Mom."

"Too late," Reiss spoke up, sliding out of the shadows.

Alistair glanced over his shoulder and a sheepish apology clung to his smile, "Sorry about that. Seems this one's anti-water."

"I could have told you that," Reiss chuckled, her fingers curling around the back of Alistair's neck. She could pluck up their daughter and dry and clothe her, but he clearly wanted to. Sometimes she thought he needed to.

The proud papa washed off the last bit of soap clinging to baby elbows then picked up a towel to swaddle Myra up tight. She gurgled at being free of the water, her tears stopping as soon as they began. "Oh, you are going to be fun when you're a toddler. Mom's handling all your baths then," Alistair murmured to the girl.

Reiss sighed, shaking her head while Alistair roughed up the baby's wet hair until it once again stood up straight. His little Wheaty. "Last I remember you two were going for a little look around the castle," she said. The drying paused and Alistair picked up a far happier baby to place upon the changing area while he hunted for a nappy.

"We did, isn't that right Wheaters?" he cooed to Myra. After securing her diaper, he waved her tiny arms up and down as if she was cheering.

"What part of walking around indoors suddenly requires a bath late at night?" Reiss stepped closer to them both, trying to avoid the obvious water spills across the floor. She glanced down at her baby but there didn't seem to be any major stains upon her pink skin. Whatever happened at least Alistair was skilled enough to get it off.

"There were a few, uh, complications." He waved his hand around, then tried to wiggle open a drawer, "Where are the cute pajamas?"

"Second drawer to the left," Reiss said. "What sort of complications?"

"You know of the, um, Daddy gets hungry, snatches up something one handed while the baby's in the other, goes to rock her and then has it dribble onto her face variety," he winced at the end, then shot a concerned look over at Reiss.

She wafted back and forth on her feet, a finger to her lips before she spoke, "Gravy or jam?"

Alistair's impish smile returned bright as ever, "Gravy, good guess."

"It's what I do," she said drawing her arms across his shoulders and laying her head against that warm back. They rarely saw each other much, and when they did it was while tending to a squealing or screaming infant. Maker she missed curling into those arms.

"Ah, here they are!" Alistair exclaimed as if he'd just routed out Andraste's Sacred Ashes. Bypassing piles of perfectly good pajamas he removed a small pair of dark grey ones in a fluffy fleece. They weren't particularly special nor fancy, one solid color save the grey warden emblem embroidered to the chest and back. "Spuddy loved these as an infant, I bet you will too," he whispered to Myra while bundling her up.

Reiss suspected she'd like them because they were warm and being unable to talk she couldn't exactly voice her opinion much. But he grinned wider as his daughter slipped into the old life he nearly had. The one that would have kept him from having a wife and children. Myra's legs waved, her tiny feet popping out of the pants that were a bit too short. Her baby came out long and lean, though everyone kept assuring her the chubby baby rolls would appear in time. Reiss pursed her lips to that, elven babies never really gaining as many rolls, but this wasn't an elven baby. She was human, as human as her father.

"Who's a happy little Wheaty? I bet it's you," Alistair booped her nose, Myra rolling back and forth at that. He scooped her up into his arms and placed her right to his chest. Maker's sake, he barely had to dip his knees before her little eyes shut tight in sleep.

"I don't know if I should be jealous that you can manage that or grateful because it knocks her out," Reiss sighed. While he cuddled their daughter, she scooped her hands tighter around his waist. Alistair looked up from a content Myra and then wrapped one arm around Reiss.

"Be jealous. You're crazy hot when jealous," he chuckled, his hands swirling against the small of her back.

Reiss rolled her eyes up at him, no doubt a little fire in there, "Jealous? You've never seen me jealous."

"Uh, that mage," he laughed causing her to scowl. "Don't think I didn't notice your eyes got a little greener when you looked at her. It's a good thing you don't have any magic powers or she'd have combusted on the spot."

"Oh yeah," Reiss blinked, trying to shake off the foolish notion she cared about that mage from when they first met. Linaya was off in the College doing Maker knew what, while Alistair held their child in his arms. A cruel smile twisted up her lips and she turned on him, "What about Liam?"

"So not fair," Alistair gritted his teeth. He was never quite as good at taking what he dished out.

"I tell you, repeatedly, that he's a client. But do you believe me? No. You're so dead certain he's trying to court me, what do you do?"

Alistair's eyes darted around the room, trying to find anyway out of this problem of his own making, "I'm not at liberty to talk about that."

"You send your newest Spymaster after him, only to find..."

"Fine, yes, I have the absolute worst sense of when a man isn't into women. Congratulations. You've sussed me out," the fake anger faded and he melted into his usual sugar sweet smile. Placing a kiss to her forehead Alistair murmured, "And I will never be jealous of you ever again."

"You can be jealous, just don't do anything stupid."

"Now you're asking for the moon, love," he snickered, Reiss laughing with him. A comfortable silence fell between the young family, Alistair clinging tight to their daughter while Reiss drew her fingers through the damp hair. To think when she first set foot in this place, Reiss thought they were going to have her killed for dishonoring Arl Teagan. She never imagined she'd be offered a job, fall madly in love with the King, and eventually create this breathtaking baby with him.

Alistair's head knocked into hers, a slight sting radiating from the clumsy move, but then he breathed warmly against her cheek to whisper, "I adore you."

He spoke with everything in his heart, no holding back with a cautionary tongue for fear of looking the fool. As if acting foolish ever stopped Alistair. Reiss tipped her head up to stare deep into those eyes overflowing in happiness. "You're wonderful," she murmured before pressing her lips to his for a tender kiss. Soft and succulent, Reiss could taste the lingering hints of the gravy that'd dotted Myra's head upon him. Somehow that foolish little moment drove her to love him even more. He cared so damn much it almost hurt.

As she broke away, Myra stirred. "Oh dear," Reiss reached over instantly, "I don't think she's happy about being stuck between us." Alistair gave in to the mother's hands snuggling their baby in her arms, his palms swooping down to caress her hips while he watched Myra slip back to sleep. After Reiss was certain she was down, she looked up into his eyes. "Why don't we sit together?"

He smiled wide, and guiding Reiss, he plopped onto the rug beside the fire. With his assistance she curled up in his lap while Myra snoozed away in her arms. Alistair perched his chin upon Reiss' shoulder, peering down at their creation while his hands swooped up her stomach to pin her tight. By the shifting pops of orange and yellow light, they watched their baby's little eyelids flutter in dreams. She should probably be sleeping in anticipation of the oncoming feeding but Reiss couldn't stop staring at Myra nor feeling secure in Alistair's warm arms.

"Thank you," he breathed beside her cheek.

"Are you going to be thanking me for giving birth to her until Myra's eighteen?" Reiss snickered.

"There's a good possibility it'll be until she's thirty, but I meant more..." he buried his lips into her collar bone, something weighing upon his heart. "With Spud and Cailan, people didn't like the idea of me being too involved. I could hold them sometimes, read them books, play, but when they were this tiny I think they all feared I'd accidentally drop the baby then kick it under the dresser."

Reiss laughed at the foolish image. While dropping was possible, babies could bounce. And she knew Alistair's reflexes were good enough he'd probably catch her on the rebound.

"I never got to bathe them before, Marn being of the opinion that it was beneath her employers I guess." Alistair sighed deeper in contentment, "This is perfect."

"Even if she squealed about getting wet?"

"Even better, because, I don't know. I really don't get it. Maybe it's stupid to be this happy, to be this excited to clean gravy off my baby daughter, but..."

Reiss glanced over her shoulder, one eye watching Alistair struggle through his mess of emotions. She couldn't blame him, she'd been fighting through the never ending cascade since Myra came into existence. Now that she was here in her arms they made a bit more sense if not still just as unhelpful as before.

"Alistair," she hefted up their sleeping girl until he could press a kiss to Myra's cheek. "She's your daughter. Meaning everything that comes with that is as much a part of your life as mine."

 

[ ](http://voidtakeyou.tumblr.com/)

"Really?" he gasped as if surprised she'd want his help.

"I wouldn't get too excited. She's a little warm slug right now, but the second that kid's crawling..."

Alistair laughed in glee at the thought, "I shall have to cover every staircase with boxes and stuff cotton in the various bear rug's mouths."

"You've thought of everything," Reiss sighed, the warmth of his body beginning to overtake her as well. Alistair scooted closer, his chest supporting her as he always would. His hands drifted under Myra, keeping her safe as well. How did everything in her life wind up so perfect?

"Reiss?" he whispered in her ear. She shook off the cotton swaddling her brain to focus on him. "Are you happy here?"

Leaning back to smile at her husband, she whispered, "Happier than I ever thought possible."


	20. Guarded Heart

_15 weeks old..._

 

Blowing against the wood, sawdust scattered off his work to coat the bench. Cullen spotted a knot and reached back for a tool only to have his elbow slip against a bit of scrap wood. It clattered to the ground, bouncing upon the stones in a hollow almost hypnotic rhythm. He'd have ignored it, if not for the gurgling cry of fascination from behind.

Unable to stop the smile, he placed the board down and turned to his son laying stomach first upon a blanket. His bright eyes beamed at where the wood fell, fingers struggling to reach out towards it while his legs kicked as if he were attempting to swim through air. "Did you see this?" Cullen asked, dipping down to scoop up the three inches of excess 2X4 he no longer needed.

Gavin's eyes opened wide, the legs kicking faster as a string of babble erupted from his chubby cheeks. "What do you think of it?" Cullen sat upon the floor and extended the piece closer to his son. Tiny fingers reached out, trying to swipe at it. They weren't quite able to grab at things, but when his hand made contact a great laugh erupted from the boy.

"It's real cherry wood. Lana wasn't happy about losing the tree but it was about to fall down and rather than risk it destroying others in a storm, I thought it might make a lovely crib for you." He kept the trophy out of the baby's inquisitive fingers and reached over to tousle his son's hair. It was already curling at the ends, knotting back in on itself as even more of the mahogany locks appeared. There was going to be a lot of it, the boy inheriting his mother's thick hair with a slight dash of his father's coloring on the ends in the right light.

A different grump erupted from the end of the room and Cullen turned to catch Honor watching over the two of them with a careful eye. "What about you, girl? Do you want this scrap?" he chuckled.

Honor woofed and with a great dog sigh rose to her weary bones. She placed her teeth upon the edge of the scrap, plucking it from Cullen's fingers. He expected her to take it back to her corner of the shop away from the baby and chew on it, but the dog placed two paws upon Gavin's blanket, tipped downward, and dropped her soggy prize beside the baby. Cooing, Gavin tried to wiggle to find the doggy, but he hadn't quite gotten spinning down yet. With one hand rubbing Honor's head, Cullen twisted his boy to face the doggy.

Baby hands swatted out of the air, a few landing near Honor's nose, but that fearsome mabari warrior who'd stand against any and all attacks, slid closer to the boy. She lapped her tongue against the soft skin, taking each tiny blow as a game. Gavin scooted harder on his stomach, laughing like mad at the puppy that kept slobbering on his head.

"And here I was worried you two wouldn't get along," Cullen mused. The boy gurgled more, the increasing babble lapping as if he was trying to tell Honor all of his secrets. For her part, the dog sat and listened with rapt attention.

The small shop's door opened to Lana standing huddled in her cloak. She stepped onto the higher wooden floor and shook off the hood. "Here my boys are," she smiled at both. "And Honor too, glad to see you're all free of this cold."

Cullen moved to stagger up to his feet, but she skirted her hand over his shoulders and bent down to kiss him. Pressing his palm to her cheek, he started at how cold she felt, "Maker's breath, how long were you out in this?"

"Not very," she sighed, "A few quick rounds, nothing strenuous. Just wanted to say hi. Seems all our residents were rather unhappy I didn't have the cute baby with me as I went." Lana broke from explaining away her day in order to struggle lower to her knees. Cullen gripped her hand, taking her weight as she buffed up their son's hair and caressed his back. "And how are you doing with your father? Enjoying tummy time?"

Gavin lifted his head even higher than before, his amber eyes shining at the touch and sound of his mother. Legs kicking against the air, he tried to scoot closer to her and she laughed. "I take it that's a yes. When did you get so big?"

"The very moment you turned around," Cullen mused, his hands plying through Lana's curls. "I fear I missed it as well."

"Well, we have a few years until he's running around in the back woods chasing goblins," she smiled.

"I certainly hope so. I need a couple more weeks at least until the crib's finished. If he grows out of his cradle before then..." Cullen grimaced, turning back to the project he foolishly thought he'd have plenty of time to accomplish once their baby was born. There'd been a waning lack of good wood and he got it in his head that personalizing it to his child would somehow be better. Not to mention the always weighing fear that there was a great chance they may not require it. Cullen had been prepared to tear apart the cradle for firewood if something terrible happened to their baby, but to do it to both cradle and crib would...

It didn't matter. His son was here and growing stronger every day. It did seem like just yesterday he could only lift his head a few inches off the ground before tumbling back to the fuzzy blanket. Now he was staring around at this big, wide world in awe.

"How goes it?" Lana asked, rising unsteady to her feet.

"About as well as can be expected with found wood. We're lucky to have that saw mill so close."

"Not to mention the dozen or so favors they owe us for patching up their workers," she mused. Lana was less than kind with the owners after the last few men rolled in with injuries that should have been prevented. Many dismissed his wife due to her small stature and rounded features, but when she was angry -- truly, deeply scorned -- the Hero appeared. Even not knowing who she was, the owners all but ran out of the room like she'd set them on fire, swearing to fix their broken equipment.

"We'll have to think of what to do with the cradle once he's grown out of it," Lana mused to herself.

"It could serve some use here later," Cullen said, his hands reaching over towards his abandoned planer. A noise almost like a startled sob erupted from his wife and he froze. "Lana...?" he reached over to her, turning away from his work to find her eyes hooded.

She was glaring at nothing, though it could be through the fade itself. No magic erupted and she didn't cry about a darkspawn attack, but her lips lay flaccid in an impenetrable thought. "I know we haven't spoken of it, but...the idea of, um," Lana's speech vanished as she glanced over to watch their boy babbling to his hand and trying to chew off the fingers with no teeth.

"Lana?" he dropped everything, his hands skirting along her waist to try and catch her eye. "What is it?"

A sliver of tears dribbled in her eyes but she tried to shake them off, "Maybe it's not fair of me to make the choice, for you or for Gavin, but... Given the questionable nature of the potion and the threat of the taint, I don't think it's in anyone's best interest if I... I mean." She gulped, the tears falling faster.

_Maker's sake, what did he do?_

Cullen shook off any anger at himself for failing her as he scooped his wife tight into his arms. "Whatever's the matter you don't have to..." Oh Andraste. That was it. "Lana, no, I didn't mean for," Cullen swallowed, feeling a laugh at her conclusion in his throat. "I only thought to keep the cradle around for when others give birth here. The local women or if one of the servants should go into labor."

Her lush lips opened into a surprised, "Oh."

"Maker," he buried his face into her hair, "after everything that nearly happened." The fear still fresh in his mind, Cullen had to squeeze tighter to his living, breathing wife to stave off the tears of almost losing her. "I would never want you to risk yourself for another child. Not out of some duty to me, or for Gavin to have a playmate. I love you and I don't want to lose you ever again."

She shook off the tears, a bright smile dawning across her cheeks. Cullen bumped his forehead to hers, his greater height all but engulfing his wife to try and keep her safe. Keep her with him. "I love you too, both of you." A grump broke from their dog and Lana laughed, "And you as well, Honor. Forgive the exclusion."

"What brought this on?" Cullen asked, always trying to get the bottom of things.

His wife shrugged, "I'm not certain. I hadn't even weighed the idea until the cradle, but there are already infant clothes Gavin can't wear I need to find a place for. A new home. If I didn't intend to have another then there was no reason to keep them here."

Snuggling tighter into Cullen's arms she sighed, "Maybe it's all the letters from Ali about his kids getting along, then not getting along. Or your sister."

"What'd Mia do now?" he grumbled. She could be very stubborn on what was the proper way to raise a child.

"Nothing," Lana laughed, brushing up and down his stubble with her fingers, "merely the fact she is your sister. Your family that you love, that you look to for comfort."

"There's plenty of family right here. And who knows, with your cavalcade of friends, no doubt Gavin will inherit a constant parade of interesting aunts and uncles drifting in and out of his life."

Lana pursed her lips at the thought, Hawke having only left a few weeks prior and promising she'd be back before the kid was walking. "I don't think any of my friends are of the propagating type. He'll need friends his own age, stability and..."

Chuckling, Cullen placed a kiss to her forehead and murmured, "You're worrying too much."

"Mmm," she snuggled tighter to him, "of course I am. I'm a mother now. I fear it's made me nearly as bad as you."

"Nearly?"

Her beautiful, soulful eyes rolled open into his and she smiled, "It takes real work to worry as much as his father does." By every blessing of Andraste, she was gorgeous. Cullen tipped his head, his nose bumping her soft cheek as his lips cupped against hers. She closed her eyes, deepening the kiss with her hands pressing ever tighter against him. It'd been too long since they'd been able to kiss for longer than a brief second.

Too long.

Cullen broke away, trying to bury the flush of embarrassment from how quickly his body reacted to her touch. She could have died, and it was not his place to make any demands. Unaware of his fresh string of concerns, Lana lazily opened her eyes and roughed up his scruff.

"What about the grey warden potion?" he switched gears on her. Her caressing palm didn't stop but she pursed her lips in a controlled regret. "Do you think you're ready to try again?"

"Not quite," she said. "It needs more testing. I don't want to wait an entire year, if only for what I could lose, but..." Her eyes closed and she wrapped her arms tight around herself. "I'd really rather avoid the agony of yet another joining if I can."

"Oh Lana," he wrapped his arms over top of hers, rubbing into her shoulders as he stared deep into the top of her head. She refused to lift her eyes, the woman who suffered so much pain he couldn't get rid of now facing even worse on the horizon. "Tell me what I can do?"

Her lips lifted in a half smile, "You've been wonderful. With me and the baby. He's a handful and a half, and you... I'll find a solution, Cullen. I swear it."

Bundling her hands together, he kissed both. Those stained and callused fingers that were often burned or maimed in her experiments. The same ones that soothed feverish templars foreheads and his own erratic heartbeat. It seemed a cruel twist of the Maker that as Lana was emerging from her darkness he was struck down by a Wednesday. No doubt all the fear he'd buried inside at her near loss exploded once Cullen risked taking a breath. But she was there, holding him and their son in those thin fingers.

"I know you will, you can do anything you put yourself to," he whispered, cupping his hands to her cheeks and returning for another kiss.

"Ah, boss, er, um..."

Cullen and Lana both turned to find Sam standing awkwardly in the doorway. Her skin was as flush as a sunburn and she kept twisting her toe into the floor while attempting to yank her apron over her face. Despite having a baby, it seemed the fact the two of them enjoyed each others company was a relatively surprising fact for their workers.

"What is it, Sam?" Lana asked. She drifted back down to her toes, her lips slipping away from his, but she kept a close grip to his arm.

"I was wondering, we we're wondering if we could, um... If you'd be against us, that is..."

"Before we're all ash," Cullen groaned. His wife glanced over at him with her lips pursed. He was prepared to apologize when he felt a gentle pinch against his backside. It surprised him so much he failed to hide the reaction and nearly spun back to see if there was a crab on his workbench.

Sam watched a moment, her blue eyes widening beyond her face. Then she swallowed and pointed at Gavin who was trying to get that wood scrap again. "Can we play with the baby?"

Cullen began, "That isn't..."

"That's a wonderful idea," Lana interrupted.

"Really?" the girl's face beamed bright in joy.

He tried to shoot the question of if this was advisable to his wife, but she was already scooping Gavin up into her arms. That baby's head he'd been getting good at balancing began to make a move to smack into his mother's. Cullen lashed a hand out and caught it before Lana had to suffer another bruise. "He gets that from you," she muttered before passing the giggling baby over to Sam.

The girl lit up like a lyrium vein from the wiggly worm trying to get back to the floor. "You're just the cutest widdle...um, Lord knight baby, I've ever seen."

Lana let Gavin grip to her finger as she stared down at him in love before she honed in on Sam. "Where will you be keeping him?"

"The dining room. We were all gonna get together and, ya know...Ralph brought in his old rattle. Made it out of a bladder with some seeds and then, uh..."

"Good," the mother nodded. "Keep him warm, make sure the socks stay on no matter how hard he kicks. No taking the baby out of the dining room under any circumstances without getting me first."

Sam nodded her head solemnly, Gavin trying to inch his way up her chest while he reached for her apron's strap. "Yes, Milady."

"If he makes a mess, the extra nappies are in the hamper on the bottom shelf of the closet," Lana continued to issue orders. "He's getting better at reaching for things but can't quite grab them. I hope. He may surprise you so be careful to keep anything small out of his reach just in case." The militant woman paused and a bright smile took over, "And have fun."

"Oh, I will, ma'am. We will, right baby?"

Gavin cooed a bit at the attention, the baby always lighting up when anyone looked at him. A few would nudge Cullen at how many women and girls kept flocking to his son. He swallowed every jibe down like bitter lemon juice, hoping to be able to put off those discussions far, far into the future. Not that he was much of a treasure trove when it came to courting advice.

Sam picked up Gavin's little hand and waved it up and down. "Say bye bye to your mum and da." The boy gurgled, spit dribbling down his chin along with some bubbles before Sam wrapped him tight and disappeared through the door.

To Cullen's surprise Honor went with, the dog trailing behind with the same look he felt. 'I'm watching you to make certain you do nothing to hurt that baby.'

"You trust them to look after our son?" he asked Lana after the door closed.

"We trust them to look after our charges. A baby should be easy compared to a raging 200 pound templar," she shrugged then turned to Cullen. "He'll be fine. It's only for a little while, and, Maker's breath, don't you want to savor the break?"

He'd twisted around to return to sanding, but at her comment he paused and glanced up. "It is nice to trust someone else. While I rather enjoy Hawke at times, she can be...well."

"Easily excitable and prone to forgetting there's a baby in her arms?" Lana laughed, her arms sliding in under his. He felt her face bury into the back of his padded shirt while the warmth of her body took over.

"Let's just say that I will be more calm if at her next visit Gavin is capable of walking and talking."

His wife chuckled, her cheek burrowing tighter, "Which is when Hawke will teach him how to use a sword."

"Of blighted course she will," Cullen let the tools clatter from his hands again, accepting that this crib wouldn't be built until the boy was walking. Turning in Lana's grasp, he wrapped his hands around her waist. She was always curvy, even her time trapped in the fade didn't fully drain away the squeezable soft figure that taunted his every waking moment. Motherhood shifted it around a bit, her soft stomach dangling lower after the expansion then expulsion. Her thighs, always stout and hearty, curled outward more at the top. Whenever Cullen caught sight of her naked body, slipping into or out of clothing or a bath, he felt an urge to grip onto the extra flesh. To pad his palms up and down it while she pressed her heaving chest against him.

He couldn't hide his body's betrayal while she curled so tight to him. It prodded into her lower belly, begging for any kind of release. He ached to touch her, but that was hardly new.

"Mmm," Lana purred into his chest, her head nuzzling against him, "been missing me?"

"You know I have," he whispered, his voice dipping lower to match the want in his blood.

She lifted her head enough he watched her little teeth press against her juicy bottom lip. "How many times have you thought about missing me?"

"Well, I haven't exactly kept count," he tried to play off the rising embarrassment with a joke. They had a newborn, she was walking through the darkness, there was still their half farm plus charges. He was far from being in a position to waste such time on frippery.

Lana darted her fingers down his chest, pressing the lambswool tighter to his skin. Her beaming brown eyes turned enigmatic as that brain was no doubt churning through a hundred thoughts. "You must have," she whispered, her hand sliding lower across his stomach, "some idea?" To finish, that cruel palm twisted around his erection growing harder with every breath.

"Sweet Maker," Cullen groaned, far too aware of how long it had been. He grew so busy there was a fear of a return of nocturnal emissions if he didn't take care of things soon. His sweet wife brushed her hot lips against his neck, that mischievous hand sliding his pants up and down his cock. "Why," he tried to shake away the buzzing in his ears, "why does that fascinate you so?"

Her fingers paused and she blinked a moment, staring up at him. "You, taking matters into your capable hands? Driving yourself to the brink so slowly you cry out for Andraste upon release? Yes, I can't imagine why that 'fascinates me' so."

"It..." Cullen gulped, trying to shake off the shame of how well his own wife knew about that.

"Tell me," Lana's nuzzling returned, though her fingers broke from his cock to rifle up and down his waist. "Do you ever imagine me seeking release on my own?"

Why did he feel like he was on trial and, no matter what he said, he'd be found guilty? "Sometimes," Cullen gasped, "And others I think of you with me, you finishing me, and...Maker's breath." He lost the ability to speak, the flush of embarrassment winning over. Sure, they had intimate moments, but this was even more private and not something to be discussed in his wood shop.

"Cullen?" Lana whispered his name in her dusky voice all but damning him to reveal every dirty thought he'd ever had in his lifetime. "What would you have of me?"

His eyes shot open and then crinkled down in confusion, "Excuse me?"

Lana shrugged her shoulder and then hopped up on her toes to kiss him. He expected it to be a distraction from whatever game she was playing, but as her tongue trailed along with his, the want inside of him rampaged through. Tasting his wife's sweetness, lapping up her lips and then diving back more for, his hands moved of their own accord. One curled around her breast, struggling to take in the greater size, while the other swooped to her backside. Wrapping the arm under her ass, Cullen tugged her even closer, his fingers swirling over her dress to tease out the nipple.

When it hardened below him, she shivered, breaking the haze over Cullen's eyes. "Maker's breath," Lana panted. She kept tight up on her toes, her breath wafting beside his ear while gasping for breath. "How do you want me? On my back? On my knees? On my hands and knees?"

"Lana..." the worry erupted up his spine, concern over her well being, of him pushing her too hard curbing his lust.

"I want you," she breathed into his ear before licking along the lobe. "Now, how do you want me?"

Every hunger roared to life, puncturing his waning attempts at chastity. Glancing once over his bench, Cullen scattered the tools to the side before scooping up his wife and placing her upon it. She laughed once, eyeing up how far her feet dangled off the floor upon the waist heigh counter, "I don't think this will quite work..."

Her words and fears of the height differential faded as he returned to kissing her, those lips nibbling upon his while his hands skirted apart her dress enough to dip down the front. She groaned in the back of her throat, no doubt matched by him as Cullen gently squeezed her full breasts. With each kneading, Lana began to pant harder, obliterating Cullen's control as he tugged and warped the collar of her dress. He shouldn't destroy her few clothes, but...

Seeming to rise back from her island of bliss, Lana reached inside and undid a few secret clasps. Her dress fell open, letting both of her breasts tumble free. "Nursing mother," she chuckled. "It's a bit like stripper in how quickly you can get your top off when the need arises."

"Maker's breath, I love you," Cullen muttered, diving back to her witty tongue. She wasn't a coy one either, despite giving him the reins. Perched within easy reach, her legs wrapped around his waist tugging him tighter to the bench. He gave in until those wily fingers went right back to his belt and all the parts underneath.

Her wrist knocked against the edge of the table struggling to make the distance. Shaking her head at it, the pedantic rose back up, "Seriously, how is this supposed to work?" She gestured to how much higher she was to his straining cock. "Do you have a box to stand on?"

Andraste preserve him, but he loved that. She was so dead certain on helping him live out his fantasies she couldn't stop focusing on how to make it happen. "Lana," Cullen whispered in her ear. His voice was so dusky her perturbations died down and she shuddered. "This is where I want you."

"Okay...?"

He heard the question of "what are you doing?" as he tugged her forward towards the edge. Slowly his fingers skirted down her waist, trailing the thick fabric that protected her sweet skin from the cold. She began to rotate back and forth on her glorious ass, wanting him to get a move on. That drew a laugh to the old, stodgy templar, who slid his fingers up her legs. Calves, once so strong to carry her across Ferelden, they now required his healing massage often. Her thighs, soft to the gentle touch, but rock hard when she flexed them. The muscle hid deep below her cushioning. His thumbs circled around the top of her thighs, following the crease that led down to the part he dreamed of while touching himself.

"What are you...?" she shifted a moment when he grabbed onto her smalls and yanked them downward. It was fast enough they didn't have a chance to snag against his less than refined woodworking table. Cullen moved to toss them to the side when he paused and bundled them into her hand.

"Keep them safe," he whispered to her confused eyes. She was still focused on the height differential and the fact he kept his pants on. It wasn't until he took to a knee, that Lana's lips fell open first in understanding, then desire.

"This is what you want? After so long?" she sputtered. He didn't answer, his fingers gently teasing the skin up and down her inner thighs. It'd been so long that simple touch caused her to shiver. Bunching up her dress at the front, Cullen slowly bundled it together until he was face to face with her mound, slit, folds, dwarven beard. He'd heard them all and often worse but despite all the intervening years and the trials together he'd always thought of it as her perfection. Maker take him, Lana'd probably groan, then take the piss out of him for it.

He parted his fingers through her pubic hair, knotting those ebony curls tight in his fist as he would with the ones sprouting from her head. Lana rolled her fingers through his hair, then grabbed onto her dress, giving him free access. Barely a finger glancing against her plump lower lips, she shuddered and placed her legs upon his shoulders. Opening up wider, Cullen dove tongue first into her.

The smell was pure Lana, the one he cherished through all their times apart. At first he lightly lapped against her clitoris, taking the time to softly suckle upon her inner lips before returning back to the main event. When the tempo increased, Lana slid her legs further along his shoulders, rolling her hips to match his rhythm. Rubbing a hand back along her leg, Cullen felt the rise of goosebumps against her skin, his wife muttering something incoherent above him.

She leaned back upon her elbows, giving fully in to his machinations which made him smile against her. Out of every possible position she could manage, this was what he missed most. The others he could pretend to mimic on his own, but not this. Feeling her melt below his tongue and fingers, watching her tremble when the release hit, hearing her shriek gibberish because her taut brain unwound -- that was what he loved and ached for.

"Cu-u-l..." his name faded to panting as she drove herself harder against his tongue, all but riding it. He moved to part her lips, ready to slide a finger in, when Lana knotted up tight around him. Her thighs clenched around his head and she sat up until her fingers gripped onto his hair. The wave of pleasure bore down hard through her, only a few grunts and the occasional curse slipping free until she released her hold and lay back upon the bench.

"That was quick," he remarked, wiping off his chin and rising up off his knees.

"Yeah," Lana gasped, a hand laying upon her bare bosom. "Real quick, been a while and you..." She sat up suddenly, snagging his cheeks in her hands. "You're blighted amazing," she shouted as if for the whole world to hear. Tugging him to her for a kiss, she all but mimicked his tongue moves in his mouth.

Gasping in a breath, Cullen reached for her smalls while trying to shake off the tremble in his spine, "Here, let me help you put them back on."

"Oh no, by the void, no," Lana shook her head wildly. "No, no, I don't care where, but you are sticking your cock in me."

"That..." the blush was in full force at her brash certainty.

She grabbed his hands and tugged them tight around her back. That gave her enough room to part her hands down his shirt before reaching for the belt again. "I've been waking from so many dreams where you ravage me until I can't walk straight. I can't take it anymore." Her ferocity drove her to whip his belt off and expose the part of him Lana would always control. She circled her fingers up and down it, barely a whisper of a touch, but it burned away the lingering trepidation of hurting her.

"Okay," Cullen nodded, regretting he didn't have a step stool in place for him to stand on.

Lana smirked and slipped off the bench to land upon her feet. With one hand keeping his cock warm, she began to dip down to her knees when Cullen stopped her. She shot him a questioning look, but he had to fight through his mouth clogged with lust first to talk. "No, not that, I...I want inside you."

"Pretty sure that counts as..." she smiled, then eyed up the answer. Spinning in place, she gripped onto the bench, her beautiful ass hidden behind the dress bumping into him.

"You're a little bit short still," Cullen explained. Maybe if they put down a blanket or...

"Grab my legs," she instructed, bumping it into him and enflaming his erection even more.

"Um," he wasn't so certain about this, but Maker, he had to try. Tugging up her skirt, Cullen wrapped it tight around her waist and then knotted the ends together. His wife laughed at the ingenuity, until his hand skirted across her ass, as plump as ever. The moan huffed out of her lips as she tipped her head down to glance across the table. That was certainly promising.

Enjoying the leisurely pace, Cullen scooped his hands forward around her waist while Lana slid her legs further apart. She wanted him, begged for him. Taking care, he parted her inner lips and began to slide a finger inside when Cullen paused. There was some lubrication but nowhere near what he expected.

"Lana," he blinked, concerned that she was only pretending for his sake. "Do you wish to do this?"

"What?" she whipped her head over her shoulder. "Of blighted course I do! I...ah, right. I'm not very wet because," taking in a slow breath, she murmured as if it was a failing, "my body's still figuring itself back out after the birth and that hasn't flipped on yet."

"I don't want to hurt you," he muttered, a hand sliding against the crest of her ass.

Lana turned from her hold, cupping a palm to his cheek, "You never do." Kissing her, Cullen accepted that this would happen another day, when he tasted the veil splitting open. It wasn't much of a spell but as her hand slid up and down his cock, lubrication coated it.

"Grease spell," she laughed, "all the mages learn it, though boys seem far more interested for _some_ reason."

Spinning back around, she gripped onto the table and spread her legs. Cullen ran his fingers over her hips, trying to catch his breath. He hadn't lifted her like this in some time. Always impatient, his wife bumped her ass against his cock. Greased up, it slid between her cheeks and Cullen could take no more. Digging in tight, he tugged her legs clean off the ground, taking almost all her weight in his arms. Working his hips back, Cullen guided his greased up cock down across her taint until the head brushed upon the perfection it yearned for.

He meant to go slow, to be gentle with the woman who only a few months prior expelled a baby, but the grease and his eagerness slid him deep into Lana. A groan erupted from her as she tossed her head back, Cullen freezing in place, until she gasped out, "More!"

Weaving with his wife in his arms, he began to thrust into her. Was it different? He couldn't entirely tell, the pressure mounting so fast with every pump of his hips Cullen could only slow himself down by hoisting Lana higher or lower. The gasping gave way to deeper panting, Lana's legs struggling to wrap around his back as she drew herself to match his thrusts.

It was all over when she did that. The aching drove him to thrust as hard as he could, each slip of him against her internal bumps and turns pushing him closer and closer to the edge until... "Blessed Maker, preserve me!" Cullen gasped, the orgasm burning from his aching balls up through his spine and beyond. He only kept a tight hold to Lana out of pure force of will, every ounce of strength in his body fleeing in an instant. The force struck so hard, he felt the urge to fall to his knees in praise of the woman who was chuckling at the mess dribbling down her thighs.

Tipping his hips back to disengage, and making even more of a mess in the process, he helped her legs back down. She was all smiles, unknotting her skirt so that it slipped back down to hide away her legs. Cullen kept a tight grip to himself to try and contain some of the mess as the final vestiges spurted free. Of course, his wife twisted around and threw her arms around him for a hug. She seemed to rarely care about the stains of sex, as if the spills were always the least of her concerns.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked, one hand curling along her back and reaching upward to play with her hair.

"My Honey eyes," she snickered, her own bottomless ones staring up into his. "It takes a lot more than that to hurt me."

"Lana..." he breathed, tucking her tighter to him in a hug. She was the fist of the Maker, a controlled fury to cleanse thedas of a blight. Hero to all and Savior as well. She was also fragile, haunted by demons of her own make, with a body that could fail same as his, same as anyone's. He never wanted to be the cause of it. Not even in Kinloch, not even as he ranted about purging the mages, not her. Not ever.

"What's the matter?" she asked, tucking the far too long curls back behind his ear. Another matter he needed to take care of but kept putting off to spend time beside the fire with his wife and son.

"I love you," Cullen sputtered, burying his face into the top of her head.

She chuckled at that, "Yes, I'm well aware, but I don't think that's a problem."

"It's...sometimes I forget how much I do, and then it hits me and," Maker's sake, he sounded like a babbling idiot, "I'm overwhelmed."

Her chin tipped to the side as if she was trying to diagnose and study him. "Cullen," she breathed his name, her warm fingers curling up against his cheek, "you deserve love."

That was it. He chuckled a bit even as a weight lifted off his chest. "How do you know me so well? How can you pluck thoughts from my mind without me even knowing them?" It was meant as a compliment but for a brief moment he saw the old wall, the old fears rise. Blood magic. No, he never...

Lana laughed too, the threat fading before it even began, "Six years of marriage gives me a bit of a head start in such matters. You care for your son."

"I do," he confessed, feeling even more stupid with every word.

"It will come, in time. Yours is a well guarded heart, always has been."

He sighed at her diagnosis, "If that were true then how did you slip in so quickly?"

Lana folded her arms behind his neck, her cheek nuzzling tight to his chest while he gripped around her waist. Below his fingers he could feel her bum just below the skirt. "A good decade for you to build up the courage to let someone in hardly counts as quick."

"I pray it doesn't take Gavin as long," he muttered.

"Oh, Honey eyes," she buried herself closer to him, trying to mop up his weeping heart with her own chest. "I love you, and perhaps when our son is talking, when he calls out for dada, you'll be able to love him back."

Cullen snorted at that idea. It would be nice, a simple cap on his failing as a father. You were little more than a lump of human skin until one day you smiled, asked for me, and I melted at the feet of my son. "Just," he whispered into her hair, unable to face Lana's quick gaze, "just promise you won't leave us. We need you."

Hooking her arms tighter to him, Lana said, "I swear I will do everything in my power to never go."

That was enough for him. The potion would be fixed, or at least another solution found. She wasn't going to have another...

Cullen tugged back and stared down at her, "You, do you have to um... I know the taint returned, but is there any danger of a second pregnancy occurring?"

She giggled at his serious face, her fingers smoothing up against the laugh lines to his cheeks. "Unlikely, courtesy of my milk, but I'll cast the flushing spell anyway. There's a bit of wiggle room timewise."

"Thank the Maker," he sighed. It was going to take him awhile to get into the habit, having gotten used to her tainted sterility.

"Here's hoping I remember how to do it," Lana mused, her fingers flickering in and out of the veil but not drawing anything forth. "Don't make that face, I haven't needed it in a very, very long time."

"You ever did?" he asked surprised. As far as he knew she was tainted first then lost her virginity.

She blinked a moment, then shot a look over at him. "It's not worth getting into."

"Code for it involved..." Cullen sighed, doing his best to wipe the King's name from his vocabulary, "very well. It is dropped, as are my pants still. I should probably cinch them back up."

His wife didn't stagger back to allow him. No, she kept rubbing up and down his chest, savoring this moment. "It's a damn good thing the baby didn't suddenly throw a fuss while we were in the middle."

"Oh Andraste, just what I want to deal with on the regular. Horrified stares and snickers."

"Not as if they don't already warn each other," Lana shrugged her shoulder, drawing Cullen's attention. "You never heard them? Every new hire, the older ones give mention that if you should happen to catch the master and mistress of the place alone together...it's best to leave the room quickly and draw no mention to it."

"By the void," he growled, unable to escape the blush at so many people in his employ having any clue about his love life. It was personal, which was where it belonged. No one needed to know save Lana. And the fact that they created a child.

Maybe it wasn't so bad. To be that in love with a woman that people smiled knowingly and turned away. He chuckled, causing Lana to now stare a question at him. "It is a strange thing, to be the one warned about. I remember a few mages from the tower who carried the same."

"Maker's sake," she rolled her eyes, "like cats in heat. Your only hope to get past was spraying them in ice and even then it didn't always work."

There'd been a few known couples in Kinloch who bore a warning almost identical to a bottle of poison: avoid getting it in your eyes or ears at all costs. "I'd never thought myself that type. To be so wanted by someone so beautiful," Cullen whispered, his hands cupping her cheek, "that I can't keep my hands to myself while in company."

A hint of a blush bloomed upon her brown skin and she tugged his hand tighter, "Nor I. You bring out the best in me."

Leaning forward to kiss her, Cullen whispered, "I fear you're reading my mind again, Lana Amell."

* * *


	21. K.E.W.

_18 weeks old..._

 

Reiss was playing with Myra in the garden when Lunet appeared. While to every outside eye the elven woman looked calm and collected, Reiss caught a twitch in Lunet's jaw as she gazed around at the modest splendor of the palace grounds.

"I didn't expect to see you today, Lune," Reiss chuckled, rising away from her baby. Myra was trying to snag her fingers at a bright blue butterfly and having no luck. The creature, seeming to be aware that it couldn't be bested by an infant, kept landing just beyond her reach and once upon her head. That caused those vibrant green eyes to twist back and forth around the grass searching for her new friend.

"Reiss, I..." Lunet paced back and forth on her feet, a nervous stamping to her toe as she hammered out what almost sounded like an erratic code. "You busy?"

"Baby," she tipped her head down to her daughter, "but nothing else. We were going to meet two days from now to go over cases." Reiss tried to trail whatever was going on. Her friend only came up to the palace district when it was absolutely necessary. Some of it was due to an elf sticking out like a sore thumb, and some no doubt due to the sting of her ex. That was not a happy breakup; Lace Harding thinking that long distance could work, and her friend insisting it didn't have a chance. Lunet could be a stubborn pain in the ass about some things.

"Right," Lunet nodded her head, then nodded it a few more times, "right, I know. I only, Reiss, you have to come with me."

"Okay," she smiled. Myra cooed, a quick string of babble breaking from her as her tiny hands swept across the butterfly before it skittered back to the air. That was all she needed having won her game. Hefting her baby up off her butt into her arms, Reiss focused back on Lunet.

"Okay?" Lunet blinked. "You can just go whenever, wherever you like?"

"I ain't trapped in some tower like a maiden forced to spin gold, Lune. I'll leave a note for Alistair but it's not a problem. Myra here would love to see any and everything." She twisted her baby around, letting the girl giggle at her friend.

While Reiss expected smiles around this age, she hadn't anticipated how much her baby laughed. It seemed if Myra wasn't crying, or staring at something in surprise, she was laughing. More than a few people would pat Reiss on the shoulder and sigh about how damn much she was like her father.

Getting the wiggly baby safely locked in her arms, Reiss asked, "Where are we going, anyway?"

"To the agency," Lunet twisted her foot up and down before seeming to realize she was tapping out a harsh cadence.

"What for?" Reiss asked. "Don't tell me, Sylaise got into the ceiling and ripped apart all the insulation?" Lunet shook her head. "Jorel's been sleeping in the closet again? We knew his relationship with Qimat wouldn't last long, but Maker it shouldn't be this..."

"Just!" Lunet interrupted her, before her cheeks flashed deep red and her eyes darted around the garden, "come with me. I'll show you. It's something you got to see for yourself."

"All right, but you know you're acting really weird and creepy right now," Reiss said. "I'll have to get Myra's things, write a note to Alistair..."

"You said that already," Lunet muttered, her eyes trailing the few people milling around in the warm early spring air. She seemed to be sizing them all up as if they were about to attack.

Tipping her cheek down to her daughter, Reiss whispered, "You ready to go for a little trip? What are you staring at, Myra?" The baby's eyes honed on a flash of ebony wings perched upon the garden wall. Reiss watched the crow not hoping back and forth while waiting to pounce on food but staring intently towards them with its yellow eye. Great, more portent signs. Why not start raining while at it?

"Rat," Lunet whined, tugging her out of her fog. "Let's get going."

"Fine, right. I need to get Myra's hat and coat..." While walking back into the palace, Reiss listed off the piles of things she'd have to cram into a tiny bag just to leave the place for a few hours. Behind her the crow took to flight, its dark feathers scattering to the ground.

 

* * *

 

"See why I brought you," Lunet whispered, her eyes boring into the shattered glass. It crunched beneath Reiss' boot like brittle bones bleached in the sun. She shouldn't be pacing over it, not while holding her baby, but she couldn't stop. Crack, the same sound the brick made when it struck their window. Pop, the wind whistling in through the giant hole. Shatter, what she was going to do to whoever did this to her life.

Reiss hadn't said a word when they turned the corner to reveal the Solver Agency. The door was pried open by a crowbar, barely hanging on its shattered hinges the way a broken jaw would. Their window was shattered from an obvious hunk of rock stolen off a retainer wall down by the riverfront, the reddish hue evident, as the culprit was left to rot where it landed inside. More rocks, smaller ones, smashed into their sign until the name was almost unreadable. And in giant red letters painted over the front of the building were the words "Knife-Eared Whore".

"Well," Reiss flexed her jaw, "I'm impressed they knew knife begins with a k."

"Reiss..." Lunet reached over as if she was afraid her friend and fellow investigator was going to fall to her knees in agony. She shook it off and yanked on the broken door.

A growl greeted her, which she answered by turning back to Lunet and asking, "I assume Muse was with you overnight?" At his name, the dog fell out of attack mode and wiggled his stump of a tail. It was enough to catch Myra's attention, the baby clapping her hands and trying to reach down to the doggie.

There was glass everywhere, glittering tears reflecting Denerim's dingy sunlight while Muse sat perfect still in a desert Lunet must have cleared away for him. They did more than smash up the window and the sign. Tables were ransacked, desks tipped up against the walls. It looked as if a bronto ran through doing its best to break everything it could.

"You doing okay?" Lunet asked.

Reiss ignored her as she walked through the destruction of three years of her life. Three years of sleepless nights, blood and sweat spent for the sake of helping, of saving the assholes who did this. As she stepped past the broken desk where Jorel and Kurt would argue, around Lunet's that they'd gouged more "Knife-Ear Whore's" into, Reiss took a breath to steady herself. It was only one, but she needed it before walking into her office.

The sword was gone, every case file they'd ever solved splattered against the wall as the thieves slid them off. Her work was smashed by what was probably blunt objects and... A sting struck her throat as she noticed the vase that held all of Alistair's flowers was shattered. A few bits of porcelain remained in place, the blue and white pattern crying out for vengeance.

It was a disaster. Everything they ever owned, everything that they created, everything that proved they were useful to this world destroyed, carved with filthy epithets, then shattered to finish them off.

Lunet dug her toe against the support pillar beside Reiss' office. At least they couldn't manage to break that thing or there'd be nothing to save. "Reiss," she whispered, her eyes staring down at the ground.

"Their first mistake was in taking the sword. That's easily traced, not many deal in gilded weaponry especially one bearing the Theirin crest. Did they get into my apartment?"

"No," Lunet shook her head, her dark eyes fading into the shadows of the unlit office. "Seems they weren't smart enough to figure that out."

"Good," Reiss nodded, one less problem for her to solve. "The others...?"

"Are all at home. I sent 'em back cause..." She stared up at Reiss and tears glistened in her eyes.

"Lune!" Reiss had been with her through raids, long nights, starving ends of the month, even longer days, a rotten breakup, and she'd never seen her friend cry. She reached over, wrapping a hand around her shoulders.

"It's over," Lunet gasped. "Everything is... This, there is no way to come back from this. We tried, we failed."

"Bullshit."

"Wha...?" Lunet began to sponge off her nose, then shook her head in shock. "I ain't bullshitting you. This is, for fuck's sake, look at this! The only bright light in all this fuckery is they didn't set fire to the place. Maybe you can sell it back for a measly price, but it's over, Rat. Shit, it's amazing it lasted as long as it did."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Reiss snarled, turning on her friend all the rage boiling inside her heart from what those shems did to her. "We've come back from worse, far worse. Do you have any fucking idea the things I've done to survive? To carry on? There's a roof, there are walls. Lune," She grabbed onto her friend's hand and lifted them together in a victory pose, "we're damn good at what we do, and they Maker damn know it. We will come back."

Lunet smiled at her enthusiasm when Myra's chubby hands suddenly darted over to grab onto her coat's collar. At the baby, she sighed, "Rat, don't go talking all high and mighty. You got your ticket out of here. And it's a good one, a real good one. You plus baby in the palace. Maker take me, but even the man involved is a good one too."

"Myra may be my daughter, but this is my life," Reiss hugged her baby tight, taking her away from latching onto Lunet's lapels. She paced back and forth staring at the abuse heaped upon her world, "And I'll be fucked if I'm going to let a damn gang of piss-legged shems steal it from me!"

"You're mad, but you're scary when you're mad," Lunet's head hung down as she seemed to be weighing how much this wasn't going to work. Reiss was prepared to give her every argument for why they belonged here clinging to her tongue, when her friend's head lifted, "A'right. What do we do first?"

"Get everyone back here fast. We'll need all hands on deck to get this place operational, which is happening tonight. The Solvers is reopening before the sun sets," Reiss swore to the Maker and upon every beat of her heart. She grasped her friend's hand again and Lunet snickered.

At that moment Myra began to cry. Right, it was nearing her nap time. "And get a crib on the way back here. It's gonna be a long day for us all."


	22. Hate

Myra was tended to by both dwarves on a rotating schedule. At first, Reiss sent Kurt to talk to the window repair guy, then Jorel to snag some cheap wood to cover the gaping hole in the meantime. The rest stayed behind to sweep up the glass and debris, all of it having to be filed away to check what was stolen later. Myra kept smiling safe inside her crib at the goings on, clapping from her silly mummy with hands coated in red goo as she plucked up glass wedged into the walls and gaps in the floor across the agency.

Reiss had to remind herself to wipe the blood from her hands before she could touch her daughter. The cuts came so fast, there was barely a point in bandaging it up until they were finished.

Jorel returned first with a giant slab of wood. He was cursing every third word at whoever had the shriveled balls to attack their place, but focused that anger into drilling nails through the boards and into the window. It was Kurt who slipped back later, his face pale and hands wringing the end of his beard.

Turning away from the pile of papers scattered out of their folders that she had to sort, Reiss asked, "What is it, Kurt?"

"It's, um..." the man glanced first at Qimat, who placed down her broom, then to Lunet. He was doing everything he could to not look at Reiss.

Of course she picked up on that fact instantly and girded herself. "I'm not about to shoot the messenger," she tried to soothe him.

"I spoke with the glass guy and, uh..." he tipped his head back, the face between beard and hair turning bright red while he rubbed his neck, "he said he couldn't help us."

"Why?" Lunet sneered. She held a hammer in her hand from trying to pry apart all the nailed together broken wood pieces for the fire. The rage building inside caused her to flex her knuckles tight against the handle.

Kurt noticed her weapon, and gulped again. "Because of, he said that. It wasn't me, it was him who..." the voice dipped down to a mumble.

"Spit it out, man," Jorel shouted at his brother.

"He said he wouldn't take any money from a whore," Kurt cried before clasping a hand to his mouth. Every eye whipped over to Reiss who'd tipped her chin down to try and hide the flush building upon her cheeks. She wasn't certain if it was all rage or if a twinge of shame burned in there.

Lunet spun on Kurt, the hammer embedding into their shattered door as she needed to work something out, "You get your ass back there and you tell that Maker damned, pig-faced, brontofucker that he will supply us with a window and he'll do it at a discount!" Kurt gurgled in her grip, his eyes darting around for help.

"No," Reiss spoke up softly.

"Good point," Lunet tipped her head, "take Qimat. If anyone'll scare the pissants, it's her. Glare, a lot. Maybe if we rub some blood on your horns..."

"No, he's not going back," Reiss said louder, the command returning to her voice. "We're not going to force anyone to work for us that doesn't want to."

"For fuck's sake, Rat, you're gonna let them walk all over us? Over you, just because..." Lunet waved at Myra who was gumming on an old doll a girl gave them for rescuing her kitten. "This bastard owes us. Didn't you do him a favor by stopping the ones who were stealing his supplies?"

She remembered it well. Before they had a name, before they had a building, she stumbled into a gang of bandits posing as City Watch. They were confiscating goods left and right to sell on the blackmarket. It was a big egg on its face problem for the watch until Reiss brought all the imposters in. The glassmaker was so happy to have his supplies back, he offered them a free window when they moved into this place.

"It doesn't matter. We come back our way, with the people who'll serve us. The rest can...find someone else to solve their problems," she shrugged, her eyes glinting. "Qimat, head down to the riverfront. There's another glassmaker there, bit pricier, but maybe you can gently talk him down for it."

"Uh," the woman glanced over at Lunet who was still squeezing the hammer's handle with all her worth, "yes, Boss." She did her best to squeeze around Lunet out the door, when Reiss shouted out.

"And try to find a new door while you're out. Lunet's already started beating the old one off the hinges."

Her friend sneered, but yanked the hammer out of the good sized hole she battered into it. Reiss could hear the arguments between them, they'd been friends for far too long for her to not already know them. You can't pick and choose. They'll turn against us. It's what they do. They got the numbers and we got nothing.

Maybe she was right, maybe Reiss couldn't turn away those who'd spit in their faces in public but demand their aid in the dark. But she was exhausted from being the good elf. The kind and sweet one who always smiled politely at their little jokes, who didn't raise a fuss, who let them walk all over her back while acting as if she didn't know she was being screwed over. They strike at her, she'd strike back. And they forgot that in all this time ferreting out the secrets of Denerim, Reiss knew where the arteries of the city lurked and how to slice them open.

"Kurt," Reiss called out, "why don't you watch Myra for a bit? Take her upstairs where it's warmest. I have to start attacking this pile of cases."

"Oh," the dwarf's eyes lit up as he stepped away from the scary elf still holding the hammer. He reached in for Myra who'd been rather content sitting in her crib, but the appearance of a tuggable beard called to her like none could. Before the dwarf bustled her up to the apartment where a real fire was possible, Reiss reached over to her baby girl.

"You're being so good through this," she whispered, planting a quick kiss on her forehead. _This is what I've pulled you into, the world you're born to. Hate. Hate on either side no matter what I do._ Tears percolated in her eyes as she watched Myra vanish up the stairs, the regret at her selfish choice stinging harder when Kurt's foot creaked on the 13 th stair.

"Boss?" Jorel grumbled, shaking Reiss from her fog.

She whipped back, the tears gone and her will of iron in place. "Finish nailing up the window. Lunet, rip off the door. I'll get to clearing a walkup path for customers."

They lost the day straining to get everything cleaned out in time. Reiss only took breaks to nurse Myra, and even then she'd often sit in what had been her office, trying to find the most important cases and put it all back in order. If a murderer slipped through their fingers because of what these cowards did... Qimat was a bit of a whiz with woodworking and managed to salvage Lunet's old desk. It was the only one that wasn't damaged beyond repair, though they were going to have to sand away the carvings.

For now it sat at the front with a stack of the cases Reiss picked sitting to the left, a single chair behind it, a bell for the customer to ring, and a small vase holding a single daisy because Kurt thought it would look nice. They pulled everything broken beyond repair to the back of the office and tacked up sheets before it to hide the mess. All day people would stop and stare, at first at the mess, and later at the spectacle of watching people dragging shit in and out through a broken window. Then their eyes would rise up to the graffiti and they'd scatter.

After a morning and afternoon of work, people began to ask, "Are you guys closed?"

"No, we're merely redecorating at the moment," Reiss would answer with a smile. "If you have a problem you need help with we should be fully open sometime after nightfall."

"A'right," was the answer, their eyes noting the damage and not voicing how in denial the elf was about pulling that off before sunset.

When the dinner hour set in, the baker stopped by to whisper about how he'd heard some hooligans had been around last night but hadn't witnessed anything. Reiss thanked him for whatever information he may have on them. She doubted the human would provide much, if not out of solidarity then not wanting to be targeted next, but he was kind enough to leave a bag of left over breads and pastries for the group to devour. After a day of hard labor and a baby stuck to her teat, Reiss was ravenous. The baker barely turned the corner before the entire offering vanished into weary but happy stomachs as a sort of celebration.

They'd done it. Streaks of waning sunlight stretched across the street while Jorel lit the new lamp outside their agency. He'd painted "Solvors" across the boarded up window. Reiss thought about correcting his spelling, but it was doubtful it mattered. A lot of their clients were illiterate anyway.

That was the final bit to finish in this insane plan to cling to normalcy. Yanking open the new door that almost looked as if it'd been ripped straight off of some other business' hinges, Jorel tugged out the sign that declared them "Open." He glanced over at everyone standing in front of the curtain, Reiss tipping her baby back and forth for Qimat's and Myra's entertainment.

"Got that all done up," he commented, wiping the blue paint off on his trousers.

"Excellent work," Reiss smiled, she couldn't be prouder of her people. They all pitched in to achieve the impossible with only a few minor grumps and groans about it.

"Whatcha want to do about the, er," Jorel jabbed a hand up towards the ceiling and then whispered, "K-E-W bit?"

"Leave it," Reiss' voice turned ice cold, her eyes narrowing to a slit.

"You can't be serious," Lunet half chuckled. "We'll get some ladders tomorrow and then scrub it off."

"Great," Jorel moped, as if it wouldn't be the qunari they'd send up there.

"I mean it," Reiss ordered, no laugh in her voice. "I want them all to see it. To know." She paused in bouncing Myra on her lap, her heart hardening in her chest. Hiding from the hate solved nothing.

"Rat, that's not..." Lunet began again, when Reiss whipped her head at her and snarled. "Okay, fine. We leave it. Who am I to argue with crazy?"

She stared a beat longer with Reiss, the only two elves struggling to breathe in their society enforced corsets. Take too deep of one and the narrow box they forced you into will break. The only hope of survival is shallow moments, quickly sipped in the corner where the shems wouldn't notice. Reiss smiled a bit and Lunet matched it.

"Talk of crazy, I ain't the one who once swam the breadth of the Drakon river in winter."

"Oh sure, it'll come out bad if we're gonna include all the stories when I'm drunk," Lunet chuckled, extending her hands.

"If we're gonna swap horror stories, let's do it back by the fire. It's colder than a qunari's teat out here," Jorel grumped, rubbing up and down his shoulders. He paused as he felt two sets of eyes glaring at him. "What? It's one o' them expressions. I ain't on trial here."

"Not here, precisely," Kurt spoke up, a gentle smile on his face. He seemed happiest in the company of the baby. "But I remember back in Orzammar..."

They all hid behind the curtain, talking shit and trading stories from their old days. Speaking about the times when they nearly thought they'd die, or stood arse deep in freezing mud, or were glaring down the wrong end of a wyvern, it made all this mess seem so unimportant. It was a small divot on the road, nothing more.

Reiss kept Myra in her lap, the baby happy to see so many laughing and cringing faces, until she checked the hour and tucked her tight into the crib. She braced for oncoming wails but her daughter tuckered right out. Throughout the night, they traded who would sit at the front desk, doing their best to look busy in the chance a customer came through the door while keeping an ear back to hear the really embarrassing stories.

By around hour three, Reiss felt herself fading. She'd been up and down the night previous as Myra decided sleeping through an entire eight hours was boring when there was her foot to fight with. It was foolish to remain awake for the entire night, it wasn't as if anything interesting would happen, but she felt as if she needed to. Like that first night after the birth sitting there watching Myra breathe just to make certain she didn't stop. Her agency was struggling, and it needed her to sit watch by its bedside.

Jorel perched in Qimat's lap, their frosty relationship back to smoldering while Lunet kicked a foot into the remains of a desk. After rifling through all their business life, talked turned to personal. More than a few were drunk enough, or exhausted enough, to try and pry into the King's more private attributes. As the dwarf put it, "Well, we know it works at least, and is long enough to get in there."

Far too exhausted to put up a proper defense, Reiss hid her face behind her hands and waited until they found a different topic. Out of nowhere a warm body of fluff landed upon her lap and she glanced down to find Sylaise mewling like a baby kitten. "I wondered where you got to tonight." She hadn't seen her cat since she was fed, no doubt Sylaise slipping up into the apartment along with the baby and Kurt.

Padding her paws into Reiss' thighs, Sylaise stretched a moment while Reiss parted her fingers over the fluffy grey fur. She missed her cat, even if Sylaise couldn't be bothered to share in the sentiment. When Reiss had risked checking on the state of her apartment Sylaise was perched upon the tiny table glaring as if nothing had changed and she was owed her due.

After swishing her tail a bit, the cat bounded off the wreckage of their lives, then landed into the cheap crib right beside Myra's snuggled body. Reiss spun around to watch the grey shadow sizing up this sleeping little human.

"Cat..." she warned. "Don't you dare wake her. Or sit on her face. So help me, if you smother my baby."

Sylaise swished her tail at the threat, seeming to weigh how serious her occasional roommate was with the potential mutilation. With a soft humph, the cat curled up beside Myra's back, a gentle purring breaking from her as she snuggled to the warm baby.

"All right," Reiss nodded, "that'll work."

"You were no help against stopping 'em, eh kitty cat?" Lunet mocked. She'd pried open a few of her buttons, revealing the hidden breastplate Reiss should probably slot back on. Oh right, there was a baby that needed her breasts. It wouldn't help for her to fumble the metal off each time Myra grew hungry.

She stumbled to her feet and wandered back towards the crib. It was tucked safe in between a pair of tarp covered boxes. Cheap wood, lucky to survive the trip to their agency and much less likely the load of a toddler, it worked for now. Reiss could find something better later. Despite the child of the King being curled up on little more than scrap wood and straw stuffed canvas, she dreamed beautifully. Her soft, blonde eyelashes lay flush against those rosy cheeks, one curled fist up by her face as if she was trying to fight off the oppression. Reiss began to reach down to tug the blanket up to keep her baby warm.

"Uh, Boss," Kurt's soft voice rose to a terrifyingly high pitched level. That set off Myra, her nose at first wrinkling, then here came the tears. _Maker's sake._

Scooping up her baby into her arms, Reiss faced a blast of crying right into her ear as she attempted to soothe her infant. "Shh, calm down, it'll be okay," she tried at Myra before shooting a glare at Kurt, "What is it?" Her wrath faded as she caught the stricken look turning the dwarf's sturdy legs to jelly.

"Ma'am, there's people approaching," he gulped, his head stuck through the hole between sheets.

"So," Reiss waved him away, "go and greet them." She caught Lunet's eye and tipped her head. Maybe it wasn't as dire as they'd first feared.

"It's just, Boss," Kurt worried the braids in his beard before staring up at her, "they've got torches."

"Shit," Lunet staggered up to her feet first. Sticking her head over top of Kurt's she narrated the view like a scout preparing for battle, "A good dozen lights, means there's easy twice as many. Marching hard too, probably loaded down with...things. Reiss, we have to--"

Her orders died as Reiss dropped the still crying Myra into her arms. The others sat rigid, terror rising but no one certain what to do. They wanted to run, she could see it, but they would stay to fight if she asked it. "What are you doing?" Lunet whispered, her voice barely making it over the baby screaming for her mother to soothe the aches away.

Rolling her old coat over her arms, Reiss snatched the hat she'd scoured out of her apartment onto her head and made certain to yank her eartips out. For a moment she thought about picking up a sword or dagger, but that would only exacerbate things. She had to do this unarmed. "Lunet, keep the baby safe. The rest of you, remain back here out of sight. I'm going out there to confront them."

"Uh..." Jorel rolled the word around in his mouth like a marble before tumbling off of Qimat's lap. "Boss, are you sure about this?"

She could hear them now, the voices of the drunk and desperate, crying against an injustice they barely understood, wanting someone to take the darkness away, and using that fear to justify death. "Yes," Reiss nodded, her steps shored. There was no other option. Parting the curtain, she moved to step out into the torchlight and pitchfork range.

"Rat," Lunet's hand lashed out, gripping tight to Reiss before she could slip away, "this is crazy. You can't do this. What about...?" She tipped her head to the baby in her hands, Myra's green eyes awash with tears like the spring rains that wipe away the cold of winter.

Reiss cupped her baby's warm cheek, trying to dab off a few of the tears, then kissed her on the forehead. _I love you_ , she thought to Myra, _and I'm sorry_. "Like I said, keep her safe. No matter what, Lunet. I mean it."

"Aye, I will," she nodded, the woman who'd kept far abreast from her baby tugging Myra close to her chest.

Shaking off every warning in her gut, every threat that'd been drilled into her head since she was a babe as little as Myra, Reiss marched towards the angry mob of shems. Their torches pricked apart the darkened street, this part of Denerim too poor for any to bother with mage lamps. A circle of deadly fireflies surrounded the agency, the voices rabbling but softening at the woman in the coat yanking open the door to stand before them.

Reiss knew now what it was to walk into a den of wolves and stare the creatures right in the eye. Teeth glinted orange by the combusting firelight, eyes blazing like a demon's as every single one focused upon her. Upon the whore of Denerim. And if she showed even a second of weakness she was dead. If not by the cheap swords hanging by their hips, the fire they no doubt intended to start in her home.

Pinching her eyes closed, Reiss willed away the shake in her legs. She took calm, steady steps to relight the lamp they'd replaced outside. Its blue flame lanced upon her, shadowing the face below the brim of a very familiar hat. They couldn't see much of her beyond that and the silhouette of her coat, a shadow that often was running to their rescue instead of away from it.

Turning from the wall, Reiss stared out at the people who marched towards her demise. There were a good ten or twelve humans, both men and women, but what struck hard to her jaw were the elves at the back. Two or three sneered like rabid dogs, as if they intended to snap her bones and eat the marrow to satisfy some bloodlust. No, don't think about that. Focus on what you know.

Survive.

"You know me," she shouted against the din of the crowd. The voices faded, every hungry eye snapping to the elf standing upon an old apple box to be seen. Reiss wasn't going to cower, ever again. "You've known me for three years or longer. I'm the one that you looked to when your children were stolen by slavers, when your husband or wife turned up dead in the alley and no one else considered it a murder. I have found your lost goods, rescued your stolen relics, and even returned run away pets."

Her voice ricocheted against the silent buildings of Denerim, the eaves seeming to stretch towards her in the dead wind. It looked as if the entire city was leaning in to hear her. Would it also watch silently as she was cut to pieces before them?

Shaking away the dour thoughts, Reiss stuck her hands behind her back to show she was unarmed, "But more than that, I have been a part of this street, this neighborhood. I know you, Mr. Causer." The man's head shot up, the torch beginning to tremble in his hands at her recognizing him. "Even before I set up shop here, your pants and leggings supplied the City Watch I worked in because we'd all freeze to death if we had to rely upon the cheap uniformed ones. What would Denerim be without Causer's Trousers?"

"A lot colder!" someone shouted from the back, drawing a few snickers from the people around him. Even Mr. Causer smiled a moment at the jibe.

"Yes, it would," Reiss tipped her head down and to the side, revealing her long ears. The reason she'd been so despised without having to do a damn thing to earn it. "You, Lady Ayers," she nodded towards a woman who was drawn tight into a corset, her cheeks practically radiating in blush pink from the cosmetics. "Your tanneries are so famous as to be known beyond Denerim. Even a few Orlesians import your leathers, albeit under cover of darkness because the last thing the fops can do is admit they're less than us at something."

That got a few more laughs, and then some Orlesian accent impressions. "Ser Aston," Reiss continued, trying to not lose the crowd. "Many here rely upon your whetstones to keep our blades sharp for grunt work. For my own sake, I hope all here have used them, for they make the cuts quick and less painful."

The grin of pride faded from his lips as she drew back to their unholy purpose. Why would a cavalcade of humans leap out of bed in the middle of the night and march but for the death of an elf? She'd never lived in an alienage, never seen first hand what a purge looked like, but her parents did. If anything, they feared angry and destitute humans far more than the blight that killed them.

"I was born near South Reach, as many of you know. We'd speak of it often while passing time under awnings waiting for rains to clear, or Mrs. Feeley's sweetshop to open." Reiss tipped her head towards the infamous candy store that seemed to only open once an age. A few more smiled, the nostalgia taking root. "Many of you were torn from your homes same as I, same as most in Ferelden. We all came together to this city to do one thing, survive."

Reiss spun towards them and closed her fist in a victory. They had survived, all of them. Scrabbled and crawled through the unending death of the blight and darkspawn to emerge into a new day. The torches began to drift lower, eyes swinging around as they all tried to shuffle away without being seen.

"Shut your fat mouth, whore!"

Silence fell, heads swiveling to search out who said it. A few groaned, or called for him to shut up, but far too many agreed with the man.

"I may be a knife-eared whore," Reiss glanced back at her building and the graffiti that by the dancing torchlight looked like dripping blood, "but I am also the woman who served faithfully in the City Watch, who protected you without you even knowing my name. Who protects you and your interests now. Who slogs out at 3 in the morning through sewage for your sakes. I am the woman that bleeds from bandit blades and frostbite all because no one else would hear your pleas. No one else in this city would rise up, pay attention, and solve your problems."

Reiss had to unclasp her fist, her voice rising in rage at the end. Squeezing her eyes tight, she said in a softer tone, "Yes, I have a child and you all know whose it is. I am not denying that and neither is he." Blazing eyes stared at the masses, "But I am far from the only person in this city, in this neighborhood, in this very street, to have given birth to a bastard child. A baby that I love, that I will defend, that I will nurture and grow. A child who will know what it is to survive on the streets while also having an ear with the court."

A few of the torches rattled at that. Oh, she knew who was legitimate, knew who was sleeping with whom, where the bodies were buried both literally and figuratively. Reiss knew enough about these people she could destroy them without thought, but she wouldn't. Not yet, at least.

"Her name is Myra, get used to it because you'll all be seeing her often. Learning to walk down these streets, play outside this building, grow into the woman she will become. Neither I, nor my child, nor the business I worked to create -- the one that has rescued you all numerous times over -- are going anywhere. You can count on that."

The final words reverberated through the street and Reiss glared upon those that would threaten her. She had nothing else. No more words, no more tricks. There wasn't going to be any last minute rescue from knights or soldiers. It was up to a bunch of shems who'd shattered her window and came to burn her to death to do the right thing.

Maker, turn your gaze upon me.

"I'm going home, it's too cold!" the first voice rang out from the back. A couple of people turned with her, the torch bobbing away through the night before being doused in the fetid water of the gutters. Slowly, a few more vanished as well, the lights fading back from the void where they came. Reiss didn't blink, didn't move a muscle as she glared down the last remaining would-be murderers. They clung white knuckled to their weapons, snarling as if they were afraid to take on the unarmed woman by their lonesome.

"Let's kill 'er!" one shouted, his voice slurring. He staggered forward, but his body slumped towards the ground.

"Oi, you're drunk. Get yer ass home," the man beside him cried in response. After being poked in the side, the man hoping for murder glared at Reiss but gave in to the prodding. All that remained was a single shem, his knuckles popping against a rock squeezed tight into his fist.

He looked all of seventeen, if that, angry at everything, and ready to take it out on something people hated. Didn't care if that thing people hated could have been his own mother or sister. He needed the hate to feel something other than despair. Even without any backup from the other shems, the kid hurled his arm back.

Reiss gritted her teeth, prepared to take the stoning, when a great grey fist clamped onto the kid's wrist. Qimat shook her head, her horns glinting by the pale blue glow of the lamp. "Nu uh, boys shouldn't throw rocks. Put it down, 'afore I tear your arm off."

The kid snarled, but he couldn't do anything save what the qunari ordered. As the rock dropped to the ground, he snarled, "Bitch-born whore," then scattered into the night. A deathly silence fell in the air, Qimat standing guard in the middle of the street while Reiss tipped her head back to gaze at the stars. They could have been the last ones she ever saw, a full moon cresting over the horizon to illuminate a pocket of dark clouds. Black wings silhouetted across the blue-white orb, Reiss foolishly wondering if that was the same crow that foretold her end in the garden. So much for that omen.

Up from her spine rose a tremble that nearly pitched Reiss to the cobbles as she hopped off the box. Qimat reached over to help, but Reiss shook her off. Nodding once in thanks for her intervention, the founder of the Solvers walked head held high back into her agency.

"Holy shit balls!" Jorel shrieked. "That was amazing!"

"I thought we were all gonna die, but then we didn't die. So, yay," Kurt added.

They all disobeyed her orders and snuck around to watch. It was a foolish move as they'd nearly been front row to her bloody disemboweling instead. Lunet lifted up Myra and smiled, "I don't know how you did that, Rat, but..."

Reaching forward, Reiss wrapped her arms around her baby, the tears burning in her eyes along with the bile of staring into so many black, lifeless eyes that'd once greeted her as a friend. She smoothed her cheek against Myra's, tucking her child tighter to her chest while she begged for her forgiveness. It had to be her. The mob would have cut anyone else down, but...if she'd failed. If she'd miscalculated, then Myra...

_Myra, I'm so sorry. I love you, always._

Unaware of the torment ransacking her mother, the baby tipped her head back, then lost all control and beaned Reiss hard in the nose. _Maker's sake!_ Reiss spun her head away but didn't let go of her grip. That kid had a powerful swing with her head, pain radiating up through her sinuses and into the eye socket.

"Uh, Boss," Kurt gestured to her.

Swiping where he mimed, Reiss found a line of crimson dribbling out of her nose. An idiotic, ecstatic to be alive laugh broke from her. Out of all of that, after everything that could have happened, the only blood drawn that night was by her baby. "I'm alive," she smiled at her group. "We're all alive and tomorrow..."

Hooves scraping across the street, ripping apart the mud that'd been trampled by the mob, cut off her words. Reiss barely had time to recognize the royal seal before the door flew open. Looking as if he crossed the void itself, Alistair leaped to the ground. He barely eyed up the damage to the agency as he ran through the open door.

A sliver of relief at her and their daughter's continued existence flared in his eyes before he roared in an anger Reiss had rarely seen, "What in the void do you think you're doing?!"


	23. Fear

"...I was damn near wearing a hole in the rug, then the floor. When my feet crashed through the ceiling I gave up on hoping you'd come home and headed out to find you."

Alistair's haranguing faded as he staggered in a breath. It began with him red cheeked and screeching for an explanation as to where she went, then he hugged both Reiss and Myra tight, before resuming his rant. Occasionally peppered in the never ending saga were a few questions that he didn't give her a chance to answer, and then prayers to the Maker for keeping her safe. Reiss kept a tight hold to the baby in her arms, patting her butt to try and soothe her. She seemed about as happy about her daddy on a tear as Reiss was.

"And what in the blighted Maker's name happened here?" he paused, extending his hands around the mess. All of her crew stood battle shocked in front of the curtain uncertain what to do while their boss was being reamed out by the King. "If this is your idea of redecorating..." Alistair continued, no doubt trying to defuse the situation with a laugh, but a long day plus the lingering fear and adrenaline pumping through Reiss' system set her off.

"What happened here? What the fuck do you think happened here?!"

"Reiss, language," he reached over to cover Myra's ears, but she shook him off. In her state, she wasn't in the mood to let any shem touch her baby.

"The agency was attacked, okay. Did you miss the broken window? Or the smashed up desks we had to hide behind bedsheets? How about the ten foot tall sign declaring me a whore?!" She was spitting each word out like it burned her tongue.

Alistair blinked a moment, then slowly glanced back to the boarded up window, the new door, and the piles of a broken life swept to the side, before landing upon the dried blood clinging to the top of Reiss' lip. "Blessed Andraste," he gasped, the enormity of the situation finally landing. She thought he'd walk over to try and soothe her, but a new fire rouse in his eyes, "The animals of the street do this and you dare to bring our daughter here? By the void, what are you thinking? She could get hurt or worse!"

"The animals? The animals!" Everything stung; her eyes felt as if they were on fire from the rage burning in her stomach, her soul an unquenchable coal. She wanted to scream and punch to fight against everything, while also curl in a ball and fade away. "This is my home. I came here to defend it."

"De...defend it? You, you're defending it with our four month old daughter in your arms? You shouldn't be defending anything!"

"Is that what you want?" Reiss erupted towards him, Myra beginning to cry from the yelling. "That's what you always wanted, wasn't it? For me to abandon my people, to live out your fantasy life up in the palace. Crank out a kid and my life's over."

"For fu..." he gripped onto his hair, tugging it high enough some of it ripped out of the roots, "When did I ever...? I swear to... Ah! Why not blame me for wrecking the place up while you're at it? That ol' King, he must have hired some goons down at the goon store and sent 'em up here to destroy your work and your home so you'd never come back. That it?"

"I didn't say that, nor imply it. You're being unreasonable."

"Me, me?!" Alistair slapped his chest. "I'm the unreasonable one? I didn't leave a cryptic note, then steal our daughter away for Maker knows how long to some pitted out building covered in broken glass." He paused and swallowed hard, "Were you even going to come back?"

"Of blighted course I was," Reiss snarled at him, trying to rock her baby to get her to stop crying while they kept screaming, "Once things settled down."

"Wh...when? When has anything in your life settled down?"

 _That son of a..._ As if he was one to talk. He was a Maker damn King, always being stretched thin by everyone tugging him beyond his means. It was a wonder they even had time to see each other long enough to make Myra in the first place. Sneering, Reiss hissed, "Should I apologize for choosing work over you?"

He stepped closer, looming over her, but Reiss didn't feel threatened the way she had before the mob. Alistair could be a right ass at times, but he would never attack her. Myra's cries caused him to stare down at her glistening tears as he sneered, "Why don't you try doing it to your daughter first."

"You..."

"Okay," Lunet stepped up, drawing the wrath of two adults ready to come to blows and an upset baby. "Rye, this is _really_ not the place for you two to be having it out. We just got rid of the mob..." _Oh for fuck's sake, Lune,_ Reiss groaned in her head.

"Mob?" Alistair spun first to her, then -- knowing he wouldn't get an answer -- Lunet, "There was a mob here?! What happened?"

"It's fine, I handled it. Which is what I do. But...she's right. Let's take this upstairs." Reiss gripped tight to Myra and began to march towards the staircase to her apartment. Alistair took a moment to stare out the door, perhaps trying to imagine what he'd just missed, before he followed after. Every crew member gave him a wide berth, no doubt out of fear that accidentally bumping the King's toe in this state would get them sent to the stocks.

Reiss paused at the door and jerked her head up the stairs to let him go first. He groaned but did as ordered, not that he didn't slam his feet into each one on the way up like a petulant teenager.

She was about to join when Lunet asked, "Hey, what should we do?"

"Head home," Reiss admitted. "There's little chance anyone threatening will return, especially with that..." she pointed to the royal carriage, the driver with his fingers in his ears doing his best to ignore their fight, "on our doorstep."

"'Kay," Lunet bobbed her head, turning towards the others who seemed frozen to the spot.

Reiss swayed her crying baby in her arms, then turned to her people, "Come in tomorrow early. We need to find a desk, at least one for all of us to work on, and chairs. And there was something in that L'range case that struck me, I want to inspect down at the foundry."

Her friend's lips lifted in a smile and Lunet bobbed her head, "Aye, aye, Ma'am."

Turning away from her people, Reiss faced a long, hard climb up the stairs to her old apartment. No, not old. It was her apartment. She knocked open the sticky door to find Alistair sitting on her bed, his head cradled in his hands as the elbows dug divots into his thighs. "Shh," without the immediate screaming match, Reiss turned her attentions on Myra. "It'll be okay. There's no more loud yelling."

"You sure about that," he whispered from his lap but didn't raise his head.

Myra's shrieking continued onward, the baby as exhausted as her mother and only able to express it in one fashion. Reiss could handle about two at this point. "Come on, My," Reiss practically begged, "please stop crying. This isn't good for you."

"Here," Alistair staggered up to his feet and reached out, "let me try."

She froze a moment, the protective instinct to survive at all costs that she'd cultivated since she was fourteen rearing up. This was her baby. No one would ever hurt her as long as Reiss breathed.

And that's the father.

Releasing Myra into Alistair's arms, Reiss padded around her dusty kitchen while he cooed and was generally perfect with their daughter. She kicked up a bit more of a fuss, but once he bounced his nose into hers a few times, and blew kisses on her cheeks, she quieted down. The baby was sated, but neither of the parents were. Silence reigned, only the pitter patter of booted feet leaving for the night and the sound of their new door being jammed into place broke through it.

Alistair buried his face into the top of Myra's wheat hair. "I was so damn scared," he whispered. "I had no idea what happened. What could have happened to you, to both of you." At that he looked up at Reiss and tears dripped down his cheeks.

"Alistair," she padded over towards him, wanting to soothe his pains away.

He sneered and wiped a wrist against the tears. "Would it have killed you to leave a note?" the snarl was back in place to cover over the emotions.

"I did."

"Yeah, 'Hey, Lunet showed up, so I'm taking Myra on a little jaunt about the city. Love Reiss.' Does that sound like a trip that should take over 12 hours? I kept saying, oh, she's catching up with her friend. She probably got pulled into a case. No reason to worry if they stopped outside the gates for a bite to eat or something. Maybe they're making a really big quilt together. That takes time. But when you didn't show up with our child by midnight, I was..."

Alistair glanced back at the window, the tears returning but he didn't want her to see. "I know what happens to people on the streets in this city. What could have happened to both of you."

She gritted her teeth, her arms circling around to hug herself. He wasn't wrong, but he wasn't right either. He didn't really know, he just read about it. Sucking in a breath to try and steady her voice, she said, "I'm sorry I didn't send along a message to the palace. I...I got embroiled in fixing this place, we had to have it up and running before nightfall. And the time slipped away from me. I didn't want to worry you."

"Why?" he shook his head, the edges of his cheeks puckering as if he smelled something foul, "Why nightfall?"

"Because if we didn't make a show of strength the shems were going to burn it to the ground," she growled, the rage returning. It was the same that helped her to kill a full grown tal-vashoth when she was only a girl, to take down Brunt with a broken arm. It was an unquenchable fury that could send dragons skittering away in terror.

"Burn it to the ground," Alistair shook his head, "do you even hear yourself? I'm asking because you can't possibly be thinking of the same thing I am. Death by fire? How horrific that is? Maybe you got it confused with being smothered by cupcakes or something."

"My sister nearly..." Reiss snarled before walking it back. "I stopped it."

"For now, what about tomorrow? Or the day after that? Or next Tuesday? Tuesdays are big bonfire days around here. How many times are you going to have to face down a mob come to kill you?"

"As many as it fucking takes!" she shrieked, then caught Myra's eyes opening wide in preparation of more tears. Screwing up her face, Reiss turned to glare at the ground, but she circled her hand up and down her baby's back. All she wanted was to climb into bed with her child snuggled up on her chest and for a few brief hours forget the world existed. Forget that people hated her, hated her baby, came to her door to try and kill her.

"Why you?" Alistair interrupted her thoughts. "Lunet, or the dwarf twins, or the qunari woman. They could all stand watch now that you know it could be coming."

"It has to be me," Reiss sighed. He glared, his normally sweet eyes razor sharp by the candlelight. "I'm the knife-eared whore," she said to try and explain it. "They don't care about taking down Lunet, or a couple of dwarves, or even a large ash skin. It's me, I'm the one, the face of this place. They're trying to hurt me. To stop me."

"Why?" he brushed his lips over Myra's chubby cheeks.

Reiss rolled her eyes, wanting to hit something, anything. "You know why. You're holding the why."

"She's just a baby," Alistair whimpered as if that made any damn difference. Reiss knew there'd be trouble when she signed on for this affair with him. There'd been the occasional rumble and spit in her face in the early days, but as she worked to form a bond with the people around her it stopped. They came to see her as something other than the King's sidepiece, something they could count on and needed. Somehow this little proof of their affair was enough to set that dusty, forgotten powder keg aflame.

"I have to stay here," Reiss said, returning to pacing. Her path to redemption lay out before her. "Get the agency back on track. Solve some big cases. Find the fucking sword they stole from us. Be in the area at all times so they see my face and don't think I've run off with my tail between my legs."

"By the void you are," Alistair spoke up. His voice was a whisper for their baby, but fire flared in his eyes. "We had a deal."

"A 'deal?' Way to make it sound sleazy? Should I expect you to leave a few coins on the chest before you leave in the morning?"

"That isn't what...you agreed to spend the year up there with me. Let me be with my little girl."

"That deal didn't include the eventuality of someone storming into my agency and destroying everything they could smash," Reiss growled, "The deal isn't an option anymore. This is where I belong. This was always where we belong."

Myra began to babble in her own language, almost as if she was trying to get into this serious conversation about her future. It was enough to throw off Alistair's anger as he gazed down at his baby girl gurgling and drooling. "And I'm what, supposed to just be fine with you two down here on the streets in the heart of this mess, with angry mobs storming your door, alone? To risk our child's life for this?"

"There are hundreds of children in Denerim right now living in these dangerous neighborhoods, but you don't cry a tear for them. Their suffering doesn't matter because, what, they're not of royal blood?"

"It's different," he gritted his teeth.

"Why? Why is it different? She's a baby, she drools, she poops her drawers, just like the dozens of other half-blood infants across the city who might be sleeping in a drawer, or with a rat for a pillow. Now you suddenly worry about the crime here because your daughter spent all of twelve hours near it?"

He chewed into his lip, wanting to lash out at her, but he didn't have anything to strike back with. She could counter it all without lifting an arm. He heard of it, but she knew what went on here, faced it every day when not pretending to be something else in the castle in the clouds. Alistair's brow clouded and he huffed, "Are you blaming me for the fact things aren't perfect? I am trying to make things better for people."

"Then try harder!" Reiss shrieked, tears springing in her eyes. "I...I'm sorry. It's not easy, I know; but, Alistair, I'm an elf. I'll always be an elf. This isn't some fairytale where the pretty girl suffers for a few years in squalor before being whisked away to her castle. Real people here are scrabbling to make due, my people. And they're her people too."

Myra blew a great bubble with her lips, which popped upon her father's chin. He smiled softly at her infant antics before sighing, "I want what's best for her. I want to keep her safe."

"I know," Reiss slid closer, "but she's not a princess. She's a bastard. Life won't be easy," She wrapped her arms around him and Myra before burying her face into Alistair's shoulder, "it wasn't for you."

"Ha, it was a walk through cake compared to yours."

Reiss caressed her hand over Myra's head, the blonde hair sifting like fine golden silk. "She has a home, she has parents, that's already doing better than a lot of elves I know in the alienage."

He stared into their little girl's big green eyes, both of which honed in on her daddy's great nose. Myra loved swiping at it, as if she could catch the end and keep it for herself. More of the tears resumed dripping off his cheeks. "You promised," he whispered, the words barely catching in the wind. At Reiss' confusion Alistair continued, "You swore I'd be a part of her life. Well, how can I be when you're both down here? Huh?"

The fire returned in him, Alistair glaring at Reiss as she slid away. She hadn't figured it out yet, there'd been so much else with rescuing her agency. Working Alistair in was a problem to solve later. If...

"I am her father," he swore, his hands cupping tighter to Myra. The baby caught on that Daddy was getting madder by the second. Her nearly constant smile drooped down and she tried to reach over to pat at his cheeks, perhaps in an attempt to get him to smile again. "And you just get to decide, without me, without even letting me know what's going on, that I have no more say in my daughter's life."

"I didn't..." Reiss tried to butt in.

He rose up off the bed, the tears dried to anger as he began to pace. Reiss kept one eye on him and another on Myra, watching her cub the way a cautious mountain lion would. "You know, you know what my kids mean to me. All of them. I already barely get to see 'em as much as I want, and this!" Alistair gasped, his voice cracking as he shook his head like a mad bull. "You can't do this."

"I'm not leaving my home," Reiss formed up on him. "And Myra isn't leaving my side, not until she's weened." Fear grew inside her gut. What if Alistair abducted their baby? What if he turned on his heel with her, fled into the night back to his fortified palace, and refused to return her? Reiss couldn't do a thing to stop him.

She extended her arms, holding them as steady as she could while staring into his eyes. Alistair glanced over at Myra's watering eyes, then sighed, "I'm sorry." Reiss girded herself, preparing to leap forward, but he released her daughter back into her arms. Maker, she felt stupid for even thinking it.

"Is there nothing I can do to talk you out of this? Out of risking our baby girl's life just so you can show up a few bastards? Prove that you're strong. For the love of the Maker, Reiss, you don't have to stick your chin out every time danger appears just to show you can survive. We already know it."

 _Was she being stubborn?_ Reiss turned to stare into her baby's face, the stub of a nose bumping into hers. More drool stained Myra's chin, the jawline nearly the exact same shape as her father's. But that didn't matter. Even if Reiss had a boy who was the spitting image of Alistair, he wouldn't be safe, he couldn't ever be, because he'd still be elf-blooded until the day he died.

"You don't understand," she said.

"Then blighted explain it to me!"

She closed her eyes, feeling everything crashing around inside of her. "I have to stay. Myra has to remain with me until she's on solids. That's how this works. This is our place in the world, and if you don't like it, then...there's the door. I won't hold you prisoner."

"Maker's breath!" Alistair shouted, his hands knotting together as if he was trying to strangle the air. "Fine. You want to stay? I'll...ah!" He stomped towards the exit, not even looking back at her or their daughter. In his state, he didn't even bother to close the door, just let it fly back on its rusted hinges and rest limply by the wall.

All the fight in Reiss fled in an instant and she crumbled to her knees onto the bed. She wanted to curl up in agony, but the baby pressed up tight in her lap, Myra twisting around with her arms flailing in the air as if she was reaching for her father. Her father who just walked out the door without a second thought. How could she do this? How could she do this again?

Alistair, please...

The mess of tears pooling on her cheeks paused as she heard grunting from the floor below. A crash of something heavy striking the wall, then another, increased closer up the stairs. Oh Maker, they hadn't returned, had they? Reiss glanced around her tiny home hoping to find anything she could defend herself with. There was a knife, but with a baby in her arms the reach was minimal.

She was about to edge towards the window, when a crib appeared in the door. Red faced from the strain, Alistair slid the piece of furniture he carried up her long staircase into the middle of the room. "Wh..." Reiss swallowed, afraid it was all a mirage her exhausted brain dreamed up, "what are you doing?"

"You need a bed for Myra, and you're not supposed to lift anything bigger than...how much does our daughter weigh?"

"Twelve pounds," Reiss recited part of the typical greeting for any new mother. She plopped to her numb feet, slowly sidling towards the crib that he carted up the stairs for them both. In all the time during the day, Reiss hadn't considered how she'd get it up here. Or... Maker's sake, she hadn't done a damn thing to prepare her home for a baby.

"Myra needs sleep," Alistair grumbled, the brow furrowed under clouds, but his voice was softer. "We all need sleep."

"Alistair...?"

"I'm not happy about this, not at all," he shuddered in a breath, then glanced over at her, "But I know you. You're like trying to move a damn mountain when you dig your heels in. And I'm not losing Myra, or you. I love you both even if one of you's really pissing me off right now."

Placing a kiss to Myra's forehead, Reiss moved to tuck her into the crib before she paused. "Here," she passed the baby to him, "you can put her to bed." Alistair's wilting face lifted a bit at that and he bumped his nose into Myra's before whispering a soft lullaby. With all the grace that people assumed their King didn't have, he lay the baby onto her back and sang a bit more above her. He didn't have the kind of voice one wanted to encourage, but Myra adored it, her little hands waving in joy.

Out of the corner of her eye, Reiss caught Sylaise leaping up onto the counter. Her tail swished a bit while those yellow eyes stared down at the newest addition to their family. There wasn't any malice in the old alley cat's face, but the same 'I'm here to protect you' gaze she had with Muse until the dog grew to the size of a pony. Scritching along Sylaise's head, Reiss tried to calm the pounding in her heart but it wouldn't go. This should be some beautiful picture of a family all gathered together putting the baby to sleep. But below her, the wreckage of her life's work lay in tatters. Not even an hour earlier, her friends and neighbors came to stone and butcher her in front of her agency. Nothing was right about any of this.

As he finished his song, Alistair turned away from Myra with the promise that she'd go to sleep. His eyes softened and for a glimmer the old puppy dog ones returned. "We need to talk about this," he groaned, tugging his hair upward in agony. "I know right now isn't the best time, but I need to..."

Alistair froze, his hands thudding to the sides as he stared empty eyed at the ground, "Reiss, when you didn't return, for a moment I feared that you'd left me again. That you'd both left me."

"Oh Alistair, I'm so... I never meant to do that," she unfolded her crossed arms and in spite of every fear hounding her steps, she wrapped herself around the shem King.

"I don't want to lose you," he murmured, returning the hug.

"I know you love Myra," Reiss assured him, as if love could somehow conquer all.

He shook his head, burying his face into her shoulder, "Not just my Wheaty. Reiss, I love you. And facing a world without you is...I don't want to do it again."

A sob jammed in her throat, and Reiss began to moan at the thought. She didn't want to lose him either. "I'm sorry," Reiss cried, tears raining down his tunic as she clung tighter to him. "I'm sorry, I didn't, I don't..." From the moment she first saw her agency bruised and beaten Reiss closed off her heart. She couldn't afford to feel anything because if she did it'd all be lost. She'd fall to her knees and never get up again. Cold and calculating, careful to never let the betrayal and anger sink in, she needed a calm head to steer her people and get this place back.

Everything ripped apart inside of her. The survivor, the refugee, the soldier, the woman who'd scaled a mountain of a man in order to stab him to death and rescue their King, shattered. Reiss began to sink to her knees, but Alistair was quick to catch her. His lips murmured something beside her cheek as he guided her towards the bed. Together they flopped down upon it, Alistair holding her tight to his chest while he rubbed her back in soothing circles.

"Reiss," he whispered, "are you okay?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I have to be, but I don't know. I hate everything right now. Everyone that...how do I go back out there? I knew some of them. And tomorrow it's a new day, with so much work to fix this. I don't know if I can. Maker's breath, by the light of the sun I have to pretend that what they nearly did...that they weren't going to gut me like a fish."

Alistair paused, his body snapping rigid below hers and she groaned. No, not another argument. Please. Not now. She couldn't take it. "What will you do?" he asked after a breath. The hands resumed their caresses, one lightly cupping her bun.

"Go on, I guess. Prove that I'm...that I deserve to be here."

He scrunched up tight, his hands circling around her back as he buried his lips to her shoulder. It felt as if his entire body was wrapping around hers to keep her tight.

"I'm afraid," Alistair whispered to her, his voice barely breaking into sound.

She wanted to return the hug but Reiss was pulverized by the pounding in her brain. How could she be so delusional into thinking they'd accepted her kind here? That they'd turn a blind eye or even willingly embrace her? She was worthless, and would have to scrape, and beg, and devote every minute of her life to climbing out of this hole.

Laying her head down upon him, she whispered back, "So am I."


	24. Survive

_19 weeks old..._

 

"This little piggy went to market," Alistair wiggled back and forth Myra's big toe that he couldn't keep inside her socks no matter how hard he tried. She sat upon her mother's new desk, her hands buried in his hair while he'd first attempted to get her to put back on the socks she kicked off. Then, he abandoned that foolish quest and took to playing instead.

"And this little piggy...uh," those big green eyes stared in wonder at him, waiting with bated breath for what her second toe did next, "also went to market. Seems there was a good sale that day because the third little piggy had to...buy himself a new plow. The only one was broken on a rock that the fourth little piggy left in farmer piggy's field. Rather cruel of four but it was known for being an inconsiderate piggy."

His babble faded at the baby clapping her hands and giggling like it was the most well crafted joke in all of thedas. Watching her laugh was like climbing into a fancy orlesian spa for a week, it cleansed his soul in ways he didn't ever think possible. Alistair moved on to the fifth piggy, who was about to try and scam number three, when Lunet dropped a pile of folders onto the desk.

"Ah kid, don't fall for his nonsense," she chuckled, then buffed up Wheater's hair. His little girl stuffed her fingers in her mouth to gum on them, but at the touch turned to smile wide and giggle at Mummy's friend. "It'll rot yer brain and then you'll be left with nothing but goo dripping out of your nose."

"Hey," Alistair grumped, then he shrugged, "actually, that's probably a fair point."

Lunet eyed him up and sighed, "Course it is, I gave it." She was wearing quite a bit of armor, a lot of it looked like it was pilfered from old sets rusting in the backs of shops. In fact, nearly all of the crew were. Alistair could almost swear he spotted upon one of the dwarves a single gauntlet from the Legion of the Dead that Lanny yanked from the deep roads. One of many things they sold off to pay for their little army what felt five decades ago.

Having said her peace, Lunet flopped down onto the stack of crates behind the desk she had to share with the quieter dwarf twin. Whenever she'd reach over into his workspace, or prop her feet up, he'd scrunch back and apologize for getting in the way. If it'd been the loud one, there'd probably be new blood all over the walls by now.

Jorel glanced over at the father trying to wipe the drool off his daughter's chin. For a brief beat their eyes met, but the dwarf quickly looked away. No doubt out of a fear that he'd fall madly in love with the loopy man and then there'd have to be a duel of honor for his hand with the boss. Or, he was terrified of saying or doing the wrong thing with the King around. The whole office was on pins and needles courtesy of the man that was kinda in charge of the country sitting in the back playing with his baby.

They'd never really connected much before, Reiss keeping her two lives separate. The only one who'd even talk to him was... "Hey, Lunet," Alistair called to her. The elf dramatically dropped her quill and sighed with her head tipped to the sky before turning to him.

"What?"

"How come you're always giving me shit?"

She rolled her tongue back and forth before spitting out, "Wouldn't get none if you didn't start it."

"Fair enough, but I mean, seems like everyone here's on their tenderest hooks to avoid the wrath of the crown. But you...you never blanch for even a minute."

More than a few heads around the office suddenly stopped working and swung over to listen while trying to make it look like they weren't. Lunet ran her tongue over her teeth then sighed, "Ain't got no reason to stop giving you what you deserve."

"You're not scared."

"Of you?" She laughed hard enough his ego took a good ding or two. "Look, no offense, but I've known bigger trash talkers with nothing behind their name but a 'Wanted: dead or alive.' You're not what I'd call scary."

Wheaty reached for a paperweight on Reiss' desk and Alistair held it up to the light for her entertainment. "Really? What about the whole leader of the country, slayer of darkspawn, could order you executed and do it himself bit? Not that I would, just..." He turned from Lunet to watch Myra lean forward, her chubby fingers reaching for the paperweight. "Whoa there, kiddo," he lashed his palm out, keeping his baby in the upright position.

"Yeah, real terrifying there," Lunet snickered. "Sure, fine, captain hoity toity, it's all a tightrope walk. Everyone here knows it, same as you do. Say the wrong word, be in the wrong place, step on the wrong toe and it's 'off with yer head.'"

"You make it sound like we're Orlesians," Alistair sighed.

"You ain't never been an elf," she pointed out, jabbing a finger at him. A rumbling in his gut returned the clouds that drifted into his once rosy relationship. It was the only argument Reiss had that he couldn't fight back against. Even knowing about his mother changed nothing, even if he sometimes wanted to know. Wondered what that other half of him was like. To be an elf. And now his daughter was torn even more between the two worlds. Why not be a fish that can fly, or a bird that breathes water? It would probably be easier than a half-elf, half-human child.

"Point being," Lunet continued, interrupting his internal grumbling, "I don't have no family you can threaten, and I ain't scared to stand up for what's right."

"Meaning..."

"You hurt her and you'll be answering to me. And a few others I bet I can round up."

Alistair laughed at that, "Three years and your threat hasn't changed a lick."

"Nope," she smiled, "though I suppose adding in the squirt to it should be done. Not that I think..." A shadow crested over Lunet's face and she turned to glare down at her work. The carefree bonhomie between King and 'subject that didn't give a shit who he was' shattered.

That first night was not easy. In the ranking of pains in Alistair's life it'd fall below his Joining but somewhere around that night before they reached Denerim prior to the big battle. When he kept trying to wash the stink of witch off him while Lanny did her best to not ask how it went. He felt unclean, angry, regretful, ashamed, and terrified all at once. Clinging tight to Reiss, the woman he loved, while she cried in regret about the people who tried to murder her, who attacked her life, he felt anger. At those who would threaten her, call her such vulgarities as if they had a clue about the truth. Risk their baby's life to meter out their own warped justice. But also at Reiss, for forgetting about him, about what he could offer to help, about how he'd be struck down if he lost either of them, for choosing the agency before him without a second thought.

That anger brought forth a shame that he even felt it. She could have died. He nearly lost her that night and he wouldn't have even known it until the morning or later. Denerim would have burned, the King dragging those that turned upon an innocent woman from their homes to be executed without thought. People rarely saw him when he was full of wrath, Alistair's defense mechanism fooling them into thinking he'd moved past it or was too ignorant to feel pain. But anyone who hurt Reiss or their child would pay in blood.

When the sun rose, bringing even more work for the exhausted woman, his churning mind settled on terror. He couldn't protect her. Try as hard as he might, dream of being the knight in shining armor that rides in at her door, this life was out of his hands. He could order royal guards to stand outside her doors day and night, but Reiss shouted that down in an instant saying it'd make everything worse. And she wouldn't see reason. Not her, oh no. If she decided on something, wild horses the size of giants couldn't pull her from it.

Maker's sake, why did he had to fall for such stubborn women?

"Lunet," Alistair whispered, wincing as Myra tugged on his hair but he didn't stop her. The pain felt good, his baby alive to inflict it. "Do you think this'll work?"

Lunet paused in her work then turned to face him. A thousand thoughts were scrawled in her eyes but she wouldn't open her mouth to voice them. "I dunno," she whispered back. They both stared out at the mess remaining. A week on and the place wasn't looking much better. The garbage was cleared out, but they could only get one extra desk and Reiss was getting the run around about her window, which drew a new twitch to her jaw.

But what was most damning, in all that time of being open, not a single person had dared to step through the door and ask for their help. No customers meant no coin. No coin meant the place would die without torches or stones having to get involved. And that may crush Reiss as bad as losing their baby would.

"You know the boss, she gets something in her head and nothing nor nobody can stop her," Lunet laughed.

"I'm serious," he whipped his head at her. "You know these streets, probably better than Reiss. Though, Maker, don't tell her I said that. Do you think this will work?"

She stared at him in surprise, that sheen of stupidity he marinated in fading away as he needed to have an answer. Tapping her fingers against the desk still calling them all whores, Lunet sighed, "Honestly? No. I don't. Cause all those shitwicks will get together, tell their friends and other friends that we're not wanted no more. To stay away, blacklist us from everything we need to survive. The coin'll vanish trying to cling to this idea we were so certain would work and then poof. All gone."

He feared as such even while Reiss devoted every hour she was awake into resuscitating her business. At the end of all the tears and sweat and pain was nothing. It was all his fault. If he hadn't taken that potion, if he thought for a second about what would happen when he was free of the taint, if he had pulled out... Okay, he was really bad at that part. It was doomed and there was no stopping Reiss from flailing to her own failure.

Little Wheaty, seeming to sense her Daddy's sour turn face planted into his cheek and began to blow bubbles against his skin. That caused him to chuckle even while her saliva dripped down towards his chin. "You're right, squirt. Your Mummy does amazing things. Who knows, she may pull a miracle off."

"Aye," Lunet nodded to herself, "she may. Rye has a habit of surprising even when there ain't a point in fighting anymore." She stared hard at Alistair, then slid down to look at the baby to solidify her point. Lunet never thought Reiss would come back to this life, she'd already counted on it being over and her losing a friend. That was the danger of discounting Reiss, she did whatever she wanted even if it the path was nothing but brambles. More tenacious than a mabari with a dragon bone.

The door to the office blew open, revealing the silhouette of a long coat and unmistakable hat. Reiss yanked that tell-tale hat off her head and tossed it onto the rack. "I've got good news!" she cheered to everyone gathered.

"Thank the Maker for small favors," Lunet grumbled, sliding forward. "What is it?"

"As you said, Felix is acting squirrlier than usual," Reiss muttered. She didn't walk closer to the gang, but kept an eye wandering back out the door held open an inch by her hand.

"That's it? That's your good news, our resident fence of all things illegal and/or fell outta the back of a wagon is being weird? Great," Lunet smacked her hands into her desk, looking as if she wanted to throw in the towel completely.

"No, that's not it. I'm pretty sure he knows where the sword ended up. Jorel, you're on Felix duty," Reiss shot over to the dwarf. He snarled, not keeping his complaints about watching the 'twitchy tall one' very quiet. The rest of the office seemed less enthused about finding the stolen sword, but she made it her priority and even if the Maker himself told her it was pointless Reiss wouldn't give up until it was in her hand. Alistair offered to get her a new one, wasn't as if they didn't have a bunch of old swords cluttering up the royal armory, but it was the principle of the thing.

She danced back to peer through the door, then dashed on her feet to the middle of the room. "My real news is this," twisting around, she held her hands out as Qimat approached the door guiding along a tiny human girl who looked at most sixteen. Alistair was taking a stab in the dark with that age. Boasting giant blue eyes and black hair that framed her face, she could be all of thirteen with kerchiefs stuffed in her dress to pad out the lithe figure or twenty five and blessed to never age.

"I solved the L'Arange case," Reiss smiled wide while the girl, probably of the L'Arange family stepped timidly into the room. She seemed more spooked by the grinning elf than the giant qunari woman, who kept leaning over to whisper that things were okay in her ear.

"Maker's sake," Lunet all but leaped over her desk in order to run towards the girl, "we been scrabbling at this thing for months? Where was she?"

"Guess," Reiss grinned wide, savoring her victory. The joy didn't pass over to Lunet who stared dead eyed at her friend, not wanting to play the game. "Lady Apple, of course."

"Of all the copper bottom..." Lunet let her curse die, then sneered to herself, "I should have known. She's been out sniffing around the little pretty ones a lot lately. But to go after a L'Arange...lady's gone full daft."

"I don't think she knew just who she seduced into her web until it was too late," Reiss eyed up the poor girl who looked as if she wanted to bolt.

The girl's whisper-quiet soprano voice spoke, "Lady Apple was..."

"Here, here," Lunet, the sharpest woman he'd ever met, wrapped a soothing arm around the girl, "I know, she made all these pretty promises and no doubt told you how lovely you are every night. It's what she does. But it'll be better."

"I don't want her to be hurt," the girl stuttered, trying hide below her bangs.

Lunet and Reiss shared a quick look that said how badly they wanted to hurt this Lady Apple. "She won't be, love. Promise. How about we get you back to your parents? You can clean up there and..."

"My father will be so cross," she muttered, her head hanging down while shame burned against her cold cheeks.

"Hey, Sashi," Lunet whispered, "we'll bring Qimat along. No one's cross around her and I can stay for a bit, make sure you're really settled back in."

Sashi blinked up at Lunet's offer and attention, then began to blush harder. "You're far too beautiful and kind to ever favor me such assistance."

Groaning, Lunet stretched her neck, "I can see why Apple hung on to you. Come on, along the way there I'll give you a few pointers about the 'old ones' in the city to avoid. There's a group of us that meet in the tavern down by the docks, not the best neighborhood but the building's real shiny. I bet you'll like it." With Sashi in her arms, Lunet guided the girl out the door while Qimat followed close behind like the looming bodyguard.

"One down!" Reiss crowed while she yanked the L'Arange file off the desk. For a moment she looked around for the sword to snuff out the case. Her beautiful smile faded as she realized it wasn't there and, after knocking the file into her hands, stuffed it into a bottom drawer. "That'll go a long way to establishing our credentials. The L'Aranges, despite having Orlesian ties, are knotted up in damn near every business holding on this side of Denerim. We get a few more cases like this solved and they'll be streaming back through the door."

The dwarven twins help up their thumbs in enthusiasm easily persuaded by their Boss, but Alistair only felt Lunet's dire prediction ringing in his head. If Reiss failed at this then she'd have nowhere to go but back to the palace. Back to him with Myra.

"Aneth ara," Reiss greeted their daughter, who clapped and made funny faces at her mother. She placed a kiss to the top of Myra's head, then turned to Alistair. Their relationship was tender and wounded, but her fingers skirted over his arm and her summery eyes beamed at him. "How are you doing?"

"We're good. Aren't we, Wheaty? Are you worried I'll cover the baby in butter and send her down a garbage chute?" Alistair chuckled even as he slid towards Reiss to kiss her softly.

"No," Reiss sighed, "though now I'm rather tempted to try."

That got him to smile wider, Alistair cupping his hands around the baby's toes so they wouldn't get cold. Socks would work as well, but she seemed to have declared war on them. Reiss noticed the lack of them and groaned.

"Kid, your toes are gonna freeze and then fall off. Do you want that?" Myra gurgled, both hands in her mouth as she chomped down on them. "I think she'd sit around totally naked if she could, right out in the cold without a second thought."

"I fear she has too much of me in there," he muttered, his baby girl waving her arms so much she threatened to tip backwards.

"Just enough," Reiss winked, the woman in a jolly mood after her great caper's finish. Who was he to go and puncture it?

Alistair let her keep their baby upright as Myra's head tipped backwards to stare at the ceiling. Spinning back in the chair, he unearthed a bag out of the bottom drawer and dropped it before Reiss. At her look he explained, "Ineria was by with a whole mess of dumplings. I saved a few for you."

"Oh," her eyes lit up, already digging into the bag to stuff one into her mouth.

"Wasn't easy mind you. Jorel tried to bite me twice," he chuckled.

"Did not!" the dwarf shouted from his spot. "Least, I didn't mean to. It got messy."

Reiss sighed, far too gone in dumpling heaven to remain cross at her underling for chomping away at her... Shaking his head, Alistair pinched into the top of his nose and tried to find a semblance of calm in this never ending torrent. Not as if you were ever guaranteed to have an easy life, but a little break every once in awhile would be nice?

"I bet someone else is hungry too," Reiss cooed at Myra.

Alistair watched her hoist up their daughter into her arms. "How can you tell?"

Reiss tapped her chest and chuckled, "Boob sense." She settled back on the kitchen chair they dragged down for her desk, ready to pull out the milk tap, when Alistair staggered up.

"Could we, uh, head upstairs? There's something we should talk about in private."

She glared at nothing for a moment, probably ready to tell him to piss off. Without Lunet around, and Qimat trailing her, that only left the dwarf brothers running the show. And that wouldn't do well for anyone. After a beat Reiss sighed and stood up, "All right. Kurt, you're in charge. Jorel, make sure he doesn't screw anything up."

"Yes, Boss," both dwarves shouted at the top of their lungs. The climb was slow, Reiss speaking a little to their baby but not glancing back at him.

Alistair waited until Reiss was situated on her bed, Myra happily lunching away, before dragging a chair over and weighing what was on his mind. "I have to head up to the palace soon. Today for sure. Any longer and Karelle will have my head on a pike."

She nodded her head to a strange beat, well aware that he couldn't remain long here to watch over their child, even if he really wished to. For the entire week, Alistair would slip down at night to sleep near and offer protection for his little family. The days were spent trying to catch up with what few duties he could manage up at the palace, but a lot slipped through the cracks. Too much.

"Spud and Cailan, they..." he tipped his head back, groaning at the ceiling, "they need me too."

Reiss' fingers broke from the happily nursing baby. They were supposed to be impossible at this age, far too easily distracted to eat properly, but there were few things Myra loved more than food. Too much like her father. "We made an arrangement," she whispered, trying to not distract the infant adhered to her breast.

Three days at the palace, four days here. It was the best Reiss could offer for her escape, while Alistair knew he'd be unable to stay down in this part of Denerim. People were already twitchy about their King squatting near the slums without a single guard on him. Add on the knowledge the same building he slept in was nearly burned to a crisp a week prior and it was a wonder they didn't bar the gates to keep him stuck in the palace. Returning, save for a little hello here and there, wouldn't happen. He was doomed to be a part-time dad to his Wheaty whether he liked it or not.

"About that..." Alistair began, causing Reiss to glare. It wasn't an easy fight getting her to even three days with him. She'd been so dead set on believing she was the only one to turn things around, she'd first talked about needing an uninterrupted month here. That was not going to happen, not ever.

Dragging the chair closer, Alistair tented his fingers together in thought. They froze when he realized how evil that made him look. Why not cackle while at it? He could do a great Mwhahahaha at the very least. "In the budget for various royal household affairs there's a small stipend set away that I haven't had need of for...a long time."

Reiss' glare faded to confusion, she hadn't been expecting that.

"It's for the King's, uh..." Shit! His eyes met with hers and for a brief second those summery fields broke into shame before anger flared up instead. Trying to shake away his bringing up the word that hounded her like a vengeful demon, Alistair stampeded out, "And I want to give it to you, for the baby."

She leaned back against her wall that was stained and scuffed from shifting the bed around. They'd cleaned up most of the deadly things to a baby, but her room was tiny. The crib took up nearly all of what had been walking space, causing Reiss to abandon her table downstairs. Now she either ate at her desk or while in bed. The place could barely hold one adult before. How was a baby going to grow into a second adult here?

Only concentrated sucking sounds broke through the silence while she stared at him. "You want to give me money," Reiss spoke softly, "money meant for the King's Wh--."

"Not," Alistair beat out her word, "not for you, for her. Maker's sake, Reiss, she's going to need things. Clothing, food, a proper bed before that one bottoms out. I don't know what street bin you swiped it out of but that crib's not going to last long."

"It's doing just fine for now," she sat up, the anger returning. "I'm not an idiot. I know what babies need, and I'm working on it."

"Uh huh," Alistair jerked his chin towards Wheaty. "Her little butt's already got a rash from the cheap nappies you had to rely on."

Reiss tenderly soothed down the bottom wrapped in near on burlap and then swaddled in one of her old shirts because they were low on blankets. She was surviving before by scraping to the end of the month, but with a baby she'd be living hand to mouth every day. "We've talked about this before, I will not accept any money from the crown. Do you have any idea how that will look to the people? Especially now."

"Can you yank that martyr stick out of your ass for two seconds?" Alistair sneered at her. She quieted but glared murder at him. If it weren't for Myra in the way she may toss him down the stairs. "Your agency is in bad shape. You know it, I know it, Lunet sure as shit knows it."

"What did Lunet say?"

He ignored the probing question of her friend, needing to get this out, "I'm not offering you a hundred Sovereigns a day to spend frivolously on all the fine wines you can drink and silks you can spit in. This is coin to keep you on your feet."

"We'll make it. We've come out of worse," she stuck out that chin of hers as if it was made of solid iron.

Alistair growled, "You mean those early days when you had no heat and were surviving off scraps of food? When it was mostly handouts and praying you made it to see the next day?" She'd been stubborn then too, refusing his help on principle, insisting any sign of interference by the crown would turn the people against her. Well, look at how well all his non-interfering turned out. He'd tried to subtly assist, showing up with food he claimed was leftover and going to waste. No doubt she saw through it, but let him play along because watching her in pain stung him. Having to see his daughter suffer as well may kill him.

"By the Maker, Reiss, you can't go back to that. Not with her," he pointed at the little leech literally sucking her dry. She was already looking more drained than usual, her hair dull, eyes flat, and her stomach rumbling as Reiss was forced to skip meals for this place. Again. "I'm offering you a hand, okay. A little bit of help to make it easier."

"No, you're offering me a crutch. Worse than that, you're painting me as one of yours, holding me liable in all their eyes to the crown's influence. I won't be a member of this neighborhood, one of theirs anymore."

"For Andraste's sake, you never were!" Alistair shouted. He'd played her game of keeping their lives separate, of accepting that some nights would be long and lonely so she'd feel secure in her decisions. But that was between two grown adults who knew what they were getting into. A child wouldn't understand, a child needed them both, and he wasn't about to let Myra starve here just so her stubborn mother could cling to her paper ethics.

Reiss took it about as well as he suspected. She raised her accusing finger at him and hissed, "You don't..."

"Know what is to be on the streets, what it is to be an elf, what it is to be an elf on the streets," Alistair repeated what he felt he'd been hearing ad nauseum. He pinched tighter into his eyes, trying to will away the headache that was rising no matter how tenderly he pussyfooted around this.

Reaching out, he caught Reiss' fingers in his. The glass cuts were beginning to heal but a few red marks remained across her palm. There was so much in her life he couldn't rescue her from, a fact he came to accept begrudgingly. But this... "Reiss, I'm trying to help you from having to face the choice between keeping the fire lit or firing one of your friends. From having to accept those dirty cases you'd refused before in order to put food in your belly. Even if...when you come back, there's going to be a lot of lingering damage that won't go away and... Andraste's mercy, just let me help."

He stared up into her eyes to find them brimming in tears. His own pleaded with her to Maker damn listen to him. He could let her fail, watch from on high until his lover and child came scampering back but he wouldn't. Alistair had to try and help with what he could, now if she'd just blighted accept it.

"If anyone knows the agency is running on money for the King's mistress..." Reiss whispered to herself. She seemed to be mulling over the idea, opening up hope in Alistair. He really thought she'd toss him out on his ass for even bringing it up.

"Like I said, it's not for you, or the agency, or even to feed Jorel's beard waxing habit. Is he eating that stuff?" Alistair cupped her cheek, feeling the familiar tears drip down, "It's for our baby. So she'll grow up happy and healthy, knowing both of her parents love her very much."

"You can't just send coin here to me," Reiss continued to argue, bringing a scowl to Alistair. He thought she was finally on board with this. Sighing, she explained, "It'll be traced back, trailed, the same amount delivered at the same time of the month will draw attention. People will notice if there's a lot lying around and may try to break in to steal it."

"Oh," he staggered back, "I hadn't thought of that."

"If you send gifts, clothes, furniture, toys, things like that, it's far less likely to attract them or be wanted by thieves," Reiss explained. Her eyes were shadowed as she seemed to be mulling over the fact that she became the kind of person who had to accept a handout.

"Okay, I can do that. I may have seen an adorable stuffed nuggalope in the shop that Wheaty would love." He tried to get her to smile, but Reiss was still glaring off at nothing. Finished with her meal, Myra unlatched and began to stuff her fingers into her mouth instead. Alistair smiled at his daughter's antics before returning to her stricken mother, "Reiss? What is it?"

"Do you think I'll fail?" her voice breathed in agony while tears began to rise up. Alistair tried to catch them with his hands, but they seemed to be a long time coming. Her lips trembled as she gazed down at their baby, "With the agency, with Myra, with you?" At that Reiss stared right at him, hurt and fear rising in her eyes.

Alistair scooted off the chair to join her on the bed. She snuggled onto his chest, Myra sliding in between them. More tears soaked into his tunic, but Alistair just kept rubbing his hand up and down her back while he buried his chin in her hair. "You are an amazing woman," he said softly. "You've done amazing things, survived odds that would humble full grown men with beards down to their navels. Saved my life, a couple of times. Three? I think we were at three last count, or was it four?"

She snickered a bit at that, a hand wrapping around him.

"You made this agency from nothing. Flames, nothing like it had ever existed in all of thedas until you," he tugged her tighter, gently swaying with the woman he loved and their daughter. "And you made her," Alistair tousled Myra's hair, the baby already yawning wide in preparation for her after lunch nap.

"I could still fail," Reiss whispered, her lips bunching up against his chest.

"And you'll get right back up, wipe the blood off, and charge into battle once again," he chuckled. She terrified him not only because of the fear of losing her but what she was capable of when backed into a corner. Alistair never thought he had a type but from Lanny to Reiss it seemed rather obvious he did.

"I'm sorry it's not enough," Reiss moaned, her face twisting fully against his.

Kicking his heels up, Alistair slid back onto the bed, letting both Reiss and Myra rest upon him. It was a tight squeeze, Reiss nearly at the edge, but he could make it work. He had to. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he whispered, "We'll survive."

"It's what we do." She smiled, their baby lifting her head off of him to stare up Alistair's nose. Whatever Myra saw up there made her laugh. Reiss cupped their baby's back, snuggling her tighter as those tiny fists pounded into him.

Survive. A new step each day, praying hope didn't dwindle to nothing. His eyes darted down to the mop of blonde hair as Wheaty began to gum up and down on his shirt. He had to, for the both of them. Make it work, even if the world tried to tear it apart. He had love on his side, which had to count for something. And he wasn't about to let go of either of them for anything.

"You know what," Reiss said, drawing his attention away from their baby, "I think I need to get a bigger bed in here."

* * *


	25. Dada

_25 Weeks Old..._

 

Gavin turned tighter into Lana's chest, his amber eyes shut tight while she sighed at her son's shyness. Even with coaxing from his mother, there was no getting the boy to flip over and look at the Arl who kept waving softly at them.

"Sorry about this, Teagan," Lana apologized. "He just woke from a nap and can take awhile to rise and shine."

"It's quite all right, I fully understand. I can often be crabby fresh from sleep as well," he laughed, time crackling his face, but those sharp blue eyes sparkled as always.

"Thank you again for setting this up. I don't know what we would have done if Cullen had to travel all the way to Val Royeaux or even Skyhold." She reached over to him, trying to grip his hand. The movement must have been enough to rouse Gavin as he eyed up this stranger warily.

Taken in by the baby's attention Teagan at first jostled his fingers like jangling keys for him, then took Lana's hand for a gentle shake. "It was my pleasure. And hello there to you too, young one."

Gavin blinked slowly, his mouth hanging slack as he silently watched this unknown man speaking to him. Struggling under his growing weight, Lana hefted him up higher and buried her nose into his cheek, "Don't be such a sour puss. Teagan's a good friend."

"They were not exaggerating about how much he shares in common with his father," Teagan gasped. When Gavin was all smiles and giggles during play it was harder to tell; but cranky from a nap, with his amber eyes glaring at the world, it was impossible to not see the lineage.

"Grumpy gus," Lana sighed at her boy, well aware he wouldn't wake up properly for another half hour or so. Shaking it off, she turned to Teagan, "Have you been out to see Alistair's baby, yet?"

"I'm afraid not," he admitted, his crystal eyes still beaming at Gavin who was warming to the Arl. "Our King does not require my services as often as he once did."

"Meaning he lets you stay home more without inventing crises to send you rushing out there."

Teagan was kind enough to chortle at her summation before tipping his head, "As you say."

"I was just curious if the little girl looks as much like him as people are saying. All of Alistair's letters paint a very different picture, of course. It's a wonder baby Myra hasn't already mastered the art of swordplay, weaving, and lute playing from how he extolls on and on about her. Ah well," Lana tousled up her baby's curls, Gavin reaching up to his hair to give a soft tug in response, "I'm certain we'll see her in good time."

A knock broke against the bedroom door, catching both their attentions. Rather than call out, Teagan opened it himself to reveal a well tailored servant. Tipping down her head, an elven woman murmured, "My Lord, you are requested in the meeting room with the others."

"I'm afraid I am required elsewhere," Teagan sighed at Lana. "Do you need anything before I go?"

"No, I believe we shall do just fine in here," she smiled at Teagan before turning to her son. "Isn't that right, Gavin?"

He opened his mouth and she expected a string of babble to escape but at watching the Arl's face, those thick lips slapped shut tight. So much like his father it struck Lana in surprise sometimes. Smiling, Teagan took his leave, shuffling off to find the damn near elite of thedas all tucked away in Redcliffe castle. Cullen at first refused to attend the talks, insisting that he was needed at home to help with his new baby and not wasting a month in Orlais. While she figured her and Gavin could survive a month without him, Lana was grateful for his choice to remain.

When the second, harried looking raven arrived, the message growing more cryptic and urgent, they realized something big was brewing. Lana arrived at the idea of holding it at Teagan's. He was more or less in on the whole issue of her being somewhat in hiding and having a new baby. It was a perfect chance for her to slip back unnoticed into a bedroom alone while Cullen attended to meetings. He could return to her and Gavin at their leisure rather than fretting leagues away. Being so near home, Lana and Cullen only had a two day ride out to the castle and back. It was rather nice taking their time to Redcliffe, Lana showing Gavin the passing countryside which he watched with his same concerned and dour expression.

Without anyone there to watch him, Gavin began to flap his arms around and twist in Lana's hands. "What do you want?" she asked, a string of babble responding. "Is it down? Very well."

First she sat upon the bed, her legs far too weary for her to not crash straight to floor if she didn't take a slow detour. Sensing his freedom, Gavin began to flail both arms and legs like a turtle lifted off the grass. "Will you give me a moment?" she laughed at her boy before leaning over and letting him touch upon the floor. Barely pausing at the new surroundings, her baby took off, arms and legs flailing as he crawled towards the bookcase. He'd been rising up and down on his arms and legs during tummy time for a few days, seeming to get the hang of them, or doing pushups. She wasn't certain if he'd ever catch on to crawling when suddenly off he went without a thought. Now it was a sight to watch everyone scattering to stop the baby from getting himself into and under things.

Lana eased off the bed onto the floor, her motherly gaze hunting around the room to find all the objects Gavin could hurt or be hurt by. Luckily, there seemed to be almost nothing. The heavy furniture was bolted in place and anything smaller tucked away up high. Teagan, of course. He'd gone through this stage not too long ago himself. While Gavin flopped onto his stomach and found the beveled edge of the bookcase feet fascinating, Lana did her best to not fret about whatever the Inquisitor wanted.

Not just him, they brought in the Seeker as well. Cassandra was ushered in so quickly, Lana only caught a flash of her pink armor while peering out the window. There'd been talk of Leliana arriving, but then some great religious crisis called her to southern Orlais. Too bad, she had yet to find time to visit Gavin even as she kept burying him in elaborate gifts. A Divine's work was never done.

A few others slipped by, faces Lana didn't recognize from her time in the Inquisition, all of which necessitated the hiding Hero of Ferelden to remain sequestered in her room. It wasn't so bad, she had the baby to keep her company and plenty busy. He'd been growing more fascinated by everything around him, the boy often following his father and mother around on rounds. Most of their charges loved Gavin and he in turn found them interesting, but there were a few that he didn't warm to no matter how hard they tried. He was very cautious.

A gurgle caught Lana's attention and she watched her son roll back onto his butt into a sitting position. Those stubby little fingers drifted higher up the case, struggling to reach for anything to tug out. Luckily, it was all drawers at that level. Gavin swatted at the case as if it questioned his parentage, when his hands suddenly lifted up one of the handles. The metal tipped up, then bounced down in a flash of glint and sound.

Oh, that was enough. The baby knocked it up again, laughing as it struck. His eyes grew wider each time he lifted the handle, then crinkled into great giggles when it fell. Gavin batted at it a good dozen more times before he glanced over at his mother as if to say 'Did you see this? How amazing is this?' She scooted towards her son and, while resting upon her hip, softly soothed his back.

They put him in one of the fancier tunics and leggings gifted to them by... Maker, she couldn't remember. Forest green with tan accents for the collar and cuff -- in that shirt he looked like a dashing ranger leaping from tree to tree while hunting for stag. The leggings were tan as well, and lasted about all of ten minutes for greetings before Gavin decided he did not want them on. With summer on the way, and the castle well heated for guests, Lana let him run around in just his nappy. Pants were overrated, she laughed. His parents were both rather known for wearing skirts anyway.

Gavin flopped forward, his arms sliding under the bookcase. At first he seemed to be happy to just dust under the furniture for Teagan, when he suddenly sat up. "What did you find, my little squirrel?" she asked, catching something dark slip into her boy's hand. He gurgled and waved it at her to show off what almost looked like the torso of a golem.

It was good sized so there probably was no risk of him choking on it. Shrugging her shoulders, Lana let Gavin pat at the golem's stomach before promptly shoving it in his mouth. That was where everything wound up in the end.

"Is that the same way our dear Commander Cullen approaches the unknown?" a voice oozed from the doorway. Lana whipped her head around, reaching over instinctively to protect Gavin when she recognized the exposed walnut colored shoulder and perfectly curled mustache.

"Hello, Dorian," Lana greeted him. Technically, he wasn't one of the few let in on her secret. The fact he was on again, off again with the Inquisitor who did know it meant he probably learned the truth of her return an hour after Gaerwn did. She wasn't certain what the state of their relationship currently was, but that he left Tevinter for this summit either hinted that more threats were rising than she already knew or he'd returned to the Inquisitor's bed. For thedas' sake she hoped it was the latter.

The Magister tipped his head, the braid in his hair knocking towards his shoulder, "When they told me Cullen actually bred, I thought it'd be a litter of those hounds you all have running around here."

"Nope, all human," she put on a smile, uncertain just what she'd be up against. Charming like Zev Lana could deal with, infuriatingly smarmy she could also deal with but that required a whole different set of skills. Gavin paused in gumming up his golem and his once ecstatic eyes dimmed to shadows to stare up at Dorian.

"And I can see by that glare that the father has already told the son all about me," he chuckled.

"He gets that way with strangers," Lana tried to apologize for her boy. So many people wanted him to instantly fall in love with them and play, but that wasn't Gavin's style. He watched the world cautiously from a quick head turn, before burying his face back in his mother's or father's chest.

"What's your little ankle biter's name?" Dorian was trying to act cool, but she could sense his eyes peering down at the baby even while he focused on his nails. He wanted to hold Gavin. Few who saw the baby didn't.

"Gavin," she said, which caused the baby to stare at her for summoning him.

"Not the worst thing. I assume it was your doing. The Commander strikes me as a man who'd name his children after swords. Broad. Long. Short. Bastard. That'd probably get confusing if they were all legitimate."

Sighing at his continued insouciance, Lana scooted a bit back from her son and waved him over. "Come say hi. Gavin likes it best when people meet him on his level."

"Eye to eye, trying to size up the enemy. Have you got him marching drills yet?" Dorian asked even as he risked his fine clothing by taking a knee towards the boy.

Lana rolled her eyes, "He just learned how to crawl a few days ago. Drilling's still a couple years off."

The Magister scoffed a moment at the very idea, then he extended his hand to Gavin, "Pleased to meet you."

Amber eyes watched the hand, then darted up to Dorian, back to the hand, got distracted by a shiny buckle, before the boy slowly leaned forward to deposit his drool soaked golem torso into the proffered hand. The man grimaced at the thing, and Gavin laughed uproariously at his move, his free hands slapping together to applaud himself.

"Maker's sake, what is this?" he groaned, extending the spit-soaked thing between forefinger and thumb.

Lana laughed, "I believe that's Gavin's way of sharing with you. He's saying hello."

"Those of us in civilized society do it with a handshake and a greeting. I suppose you southerners trade in slobbery rocks."

For whatever reason, Dorian's continued annoyance made her son clap harder. He was laughing so hard he began to snort a bit in pure joy. Lana reached over to make certain her boy didn't fall back and bonk his head on the floor.

"Here," Dorian extended the toy to him, "you can take this back."

Gavin was quick to scoop up his chew toy, returning it to his mouth. He was no longer eyeing up the stranger, but began to babble in nonsense at Lana as if telling her all the funny things Dorian did. Seemed the Tevinter mage won him over fast, Gavin's free hand bonking into Dorian's as if slapping it.

"Is it normal for them to speak as if they're possessed?" Dorian asked, squinting at the typical baby-talk.

"I'm guessing you don't have a lot of baby experience."

"We try to limit ourselves to only one or two infant sacrifices in the Imperium a year. It can get rather costly," he joked, before smoothing down the mustache.

Lana snaked her arms around her son and picked him up off the floor. In the move, the golem doll tumbled out of his hands, but Gavin didn't have time to react to the loss as she plopped him into Dorian's unexpected grasp. "What am I...?" he all but shrieked, clearly feeling out his element as he raced to knot his hands around the baby. Gavin found it all fascinating, his fingers greedily reaching for the mustache.

"Ah," she warned, "might want to tip your head back. He really loves tugging on beards."

"Is that why you never allowed our dear Commander to grow one?" Dorian laughed, doing as she suggested. Gavin's fingers landed upon one of the dozen or so buckles and that was enough to catch his eye. Rolling the clasp back and forth, he focused with everything inside of him on the shiny bauble.

"That and he looks like a total pillock with one," she laughed. "All that blonde hair does not lead to a lush beard. Looks more like his face is covered in spun sugar."

Dorian chuckled as well. With the baby entertained, he eased out of the horrors of holding one. Carefully, he slid one hand to cushion under Gavin's armpits while the other kept tight against his waist. "A look the famous Commander of the Inquisition cannot pull off. It will shatter hearts from here to Seheron."

"Seheron? Is that why you're here at this meeting we're all pretending isn't happening?" Lana pressed him.

"No, though Maker knows the ox men are quite enjoying knocking upon our door and leaving a severed head upon the stoop every chance they can. I am here for moral support, more or less," he smiled, drawn in by the baby still rolling his pudgy fingers over the buckle.

"More or less?"

Those impish eyes rolled up to her and he winked, "It depends on who wants to give the more, or less."

Zevran, definitely. That twinkle with a come-what-may attitude to distract from whatever real pains were eating him up inside reminded her far too much of that blonde elf. Maker, what would happen if Master Dorian and Zev were alone together? Throw in Isabela and no port, nor bed, nor spouse in thedas was safe.

"You have no idea what's going on?" Lana pressed.

"I wouldn't say that, but..." Dorian paused in trying to eye up Gavin's drooling as if terrified it might land upon his finery. He sighed, an obvious shudder rolling up his spine and broken sky eyes like the edge of a storm turned to Lana. "I'm not entirely at liberty to discuss what I know. But, if you put the screws to your templar, I imagine he'll tell you all you want."

"Who needs screws when you have these," Lana muttered, gesturing to her chest.

The mage laughed softly at that, when Gavin's hand broke from the buckle to bonk on his nose. "I say," the mage thundered, "that is quite impolite. We don't slap at someone's nose until we've been well introduced, young man."

Gavin giggled hard at the words, then patted his nose again. He had a fascination with them, often trying to stuff things up Cullen's while he held his son. It got to the point Cullen barely bothered stopping him and would merely blow the object out when he had the opportunity.

"Very well," Dorian sighed. He eased Gavin's little feet to land upon his thighs while staring deep into the amber eyes. Unaware he was on trial, the baby began to gnaw upon his hand, more drool dribbling down the chin. "I know your name, it is Gavin. A pleasure. Assuming you do not urinate all over my pants I'm certain we will get along swimmingly. It is only fair that you know my name. Dorian."

"Can you say Dorian?" he asked with such force Gavin turned from the fascinating nothing he was staring at to focus back upon the mage. "Dorian. Come now, even your father learned it in a few years time."

"He's not really talking yet, just a few squeals, and yips, and other noises," Lana tried to explain, but the two of them seemed to have found a game in this. At least Gavin was wide eyed in thought, so focused upon this strange new friend he even stopped gnawing. Lana darted closer to try and mop the spittle up off his folds with her sleeve.

"Dor-I-An. See. Quite simple," he kept on. "You may have to remove your fist from your mouth first." Dorian slipped up and gently tugged the rolly-polly fingers free. At first Lana braced herself for cries at having his chew toy removed, but Gavin was in full contemplation mode. Andraste preserve her, but he was the spitting image of Cullen when the man was deep in thought.

"Now you try," Dorian commanded as if it was that simple.

"Da," Gavin shouted.

"No, Dor."

"Da," the baby chuckled and he flapped both arms like he was trying to take flight. _Did he just...?_ Lana staggered back to watch Gavin focus on her, then turn to Dorian. Shrieking in glee he began to chant, "Da da da da..."

"Fasta Vaas, how do I turn this off?" Dorian cried, turning over to find Lana rising quickly to her feet. "What are you doing?"

"I'll be back in a moment. Keep watch over Gavin," she stuttered, yanking back the door and dashing into the hall.

"Watch?" Dorian's pitiful cries echoed in her wake. "I have no idea what one does with a baby! What if it defecates?!"

Lana leaned tight to the wall, trying to shuffle down the hall with its help as she foolishly left her cane back in the room. Her brain was running on pure shock which pumped enough energy into her depleted body to dip down the corridor and right towards the main room. A pair of soldiers stood guard, both standing taller at her presence.

"Ma'am," one tipped his head.

"Is Cullen inside?" she skidded to a halt and tried to peer through the door they no doubt bolted.

"Yes, ma'am, but no one's allowed inside until the talks are..."

"I'm his wife," Lana interrupted.

That caused both to blink in surprise. A lot of thedas buzzed about the Commander of the Inquisition settling down but few ever got right what the infamous ball and chain looked like. The prevailing theory was that she was a redhead, nearly six feet tall, with purple eyes and loads of freckles. And certainly not a mage.

Afraid that she was going to have to flatten both men with her magic, Lana tried sweetness first, "Please?"

"Oh, let her in Carl. What's the worst that'll happen?"

"Fine, but it's your head if something goes tits up," the guard named Carl groaned. He rapped twice on the door. She didn't realize there were voices speaking behind it until they stopped, the silence heavy. It took a few more beats, the guards watching Lana closely in the event the Commander wouldn't claim her, before the door opened.

Teagan stood in the way and glanced down at her in surprise, "Lana?"

"I need to speak to Cullen," she said, eyeing up a long table with a good dozen people sitting at it. The Inquisitor took up the head, maps laid out in front of him. To his left was Scout Harding, tapping her foot on the chair in thought. On the right, Seeker Cassandra, who glanced over at the intruder and her stern face softened. Beside her was the man in question.

He took a moment to finish jotting something down before looking over at Lana. "What is it?" he spoke simply before a look of panic crossed his face, "Is it the baby? Is something wrong?" Cullen stumbled to his feet, all but knocking his chair over, when Lana sighed. She should have known he'd leap straight to worry.

"No, you come with me. Now," she reached out to try and cup his hands.

Cullen grabbed onto hers, then moved to wrap a hand around her waist to steady her weight. Realizing he'd just about run out of a meeting, he glanced towards the Inquisitor. Gaerwn shrugged and waved his hand out, "Go on, Commander."

Together they limped back towards their room, Cullen peppering her with questions about what was going on, and where their baby was. She tried to insist he wait and that Gavin was fine, it was something he had to see. That earned her a groan, Cullen never happy about surprises, but he trusted her enough to follow.

Reaching their door, they peered in to find Dorian facing the door while Gavin stood in his lap slapping both hands against the mage's cheeks and giggling. For his part, Dorian barely winced at the baby attack, the Magister only sighing as he took another blow like a champ. Cullen glanced from his son back to Lana, "You pulled me from the meeting to show me Dorian holding our baby?"

At the sound of his father's voice, Gavin cranked his head around. He stared up at Cullen and his eyes lit up. "Da," the baby cried his newest trick, "da da da!"

Cullen transformed in an instant, the armor and sneer shattering off him to reveal a humbled and awestruck father as he fell to his knees towards his son. "Did..." he plucked Gavin out of Dorian's hands without a thought, "did you just say dada?" Bumping his nose into Gavin's cheek, the baby flopped forward, gripping onto his father while calling for him.

"Da da da!" With a great smile, Gavin repeated his new favorite two letter syllable endlessly while staring at his dad.

"You..." Cullen bounced the baby a bit in his lap, too struck for words while his son was happy to provide the half of one. That wall he kept around himself and his heart crumbled, and he kissed his baby boy on the cheek. That barely made a dent in the oncoming "da's," Gavin returning the kiss with as much drool as he could.

"He only just said it now," Lana said. "Nothing but babble for weeks and..."

Dorian staggered up to his feet and stepped away from father and son bonding to jerk his confused head at Lana. "What in the Maker's name is going on?"

"I think we're watching two people fall in love," she mused to herself.

Cullen's emotional tears dripped away and in his soft voice he asked Gavin, "Can you say dada? Together? Dada?"

"Da, da, da," the chant continued almost as if he was telling them a story.

"So this is where you vanished off to, Commander?" the Inquisitor stepped in behind Lana. He smiled down at the man on his knees while softly touching his hand to the tattoo on his chin.

"Inquisitor, I, forgive me for..." Cullen tried to turn to the man he respected in order to no doubt apologize, but Gaerwn would have none of it.

"Do not be silly, this is heartwarming," the aloof elf sighed. He glanced over at Lana and tipped his head, "You have a delightful baby."

"I don't know if I'd go that far," Lana chuckled, but she too was drawn in by the beautiful picture of Gavin muttering 'Da da da' while Cullen kept staring deep into his eyes, their similar noses touching at the tip.

"And did I hear correctly," Gaerwn turned from her, "were you holding the baby, Dorian?"

"It was only for a moment," the mage crossed his arms in forced aloofness, a finger curling up his mustache, when panic struck him. He whipped back to his lover and cried, "Don't go getting any ideas."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Gaerwn chuckled before slightly leaning his shoulder towards the man. "But we should return to the matters at hand. Time is not of the essence, I fear."

"Of course," Cullen nodded, but he seemed to be unable to tear his eyes away from his son. Holding Gavin, he staggered up to his legs while the boy, perhaps in a playful mood from his father's attention, reached out towards Gaerwn.

The taciturn Inquisitor tipped his head at the baby and smiled politely, before a sly eye darted over to Dorian. At that the mage threw up his hands and turned to stomp down the hall. After placing a kiss on Gavin's head, Cullen moved to give him over to Lana.

"Please," Gaerwn interrupted, "bring him."

"To the meeting, Ser?" Cullen swallowed.

"It is a nice reminder of why we're fighting. For the future," he curled his fingers against the baby's cheek a moment before tugging the hand behind his back. "And you, Lady Rutherford. I see no reason you cannot join us as well. You may have some insight we have overlooked."

Lana smiled, "It'd be my pleasure."

When they returned to the meeting room, a collective "Awe" rang out from every tongue at the cute baby cuddled in Cullen's arms. Maker, Lana was never more grateful for their not having to attend to Orlais. Her husband probably would have been ripped to pieces for such adorableness on display by every dowager in the damn country. After he passed the baby to Cassandra, whom Dorian instructed on how to not "accidentally ingest," Cullen helped Lana to a chair.

It was strange to sit around one of these again, piles of vellum holding not letters from her friends nor formulas or spells, but scout reports. Curt and dry, plans and lists about who marched where and what was to come filled the pages. How many of those hatch marks were once people that'd fallen in battle or to the enemy? How many more would? She tried to shake off the impending sense of doom that seemed to trail her life how matter how hard she ran from it.

Cullen slipped Gavin in between his thighs to sit on the chair, the baby clinging to the table, his mouth just at the right height to begin gumming it. After making certain his son was happy, if not ruining the furniture, he picked up a file and said, "Shall we begin?"

Gaerwn tipped his head in acknowledgment, "The Commander is correct; we may all take turns cooing at the baby later. I assume." He ended that by extending a hand at Lana.

She sat up higher and smiled, "Yes, of course."

A dozen weary heads dove back into the matter, faces that'd already seen countless atrocities, stitched back together hundreds of rips to the flesh, forgone family or love for the sake of the cause. Why? Why did any of them get up each day at the crack of dawn, though in Dorian's case perhaps noonish? Why did they risk their hide and their homes, often every coin they had for this?

Because someone had to.

Lana turned to her baby happily gurgling against the table around which the future of thedas could be shaped. He had no idea what was going on, his greatest accomplishment that day was getting out Dada and melting his father in the process. For Gavin it was a typical day like any other. For so many people in thedas it was the same. Get up, go to work, head home, sleep.

That was why they did it.

Why she left the tower, stomped through the deep roads, and glared an archdemon in the eye. Why Hawke stood up against the Arishock, told Meredith where to stick her cursed sword. Why Gaerwn struck out to end the machinations of the world's first darkspawn.

They did it so no one else had to.

Scooping her fingers back behind Gavin's head, she mussed with his curls while also feeling Cullen's stomach below. It'd been stone, but at her touch she felt a momentary quiver. Glancing over she caught his eyes gazing at her with the same love they'd borne since the day they first met. She smiled back, holding their son who could be the next in this never ending line of saving the world. Maker turn your gaze upon him if it be so. She wanted better for Gavin, for all of them.

Cullen added his hand over their baby's stomach, both parents holding him safe while his mind returned to the task at hand. "What is our next move?"

"I'm afraid we don't have much say at the moment," Gaerwn began to pace, his arms locked behind his back. "Harding?" He turned to the dwarf but she was staring with eyes agog at the baby. "Scout Lace Harding?" Gaerwn continued.

"...swift and cunning, arrows cut you down to size," a voice sang quietly from the back of the room. Lana caught a hint of pointed ears below all the blonde hair, but the come-and-get-some stance told her she wasn't a servant.

"Hm?" Harding snapped away from trying to get Gavin to smile, "Right, uh, everything we know we already went over. At this point it's all on our contact in Tevinter."

Cullen growled at that, his free hand flipping through the stacks of vellum while the other remained upon his baby. "What do we know about this person? Almost nothing in their history leads me to believe any of them stand a chance at pulling this off."

At that Gaerwn chuckled, his hand cupping against his chin. "Dear Commander, what in the history of an apprentice mage, a Ferelden refugee, or a dalish scout in the wrong place, would ever let on that we were capable of saving the world?"

"That..." Cullen's cheeks burned and he risked a glance over at Lana. "That's a fair point."

"Indeed," Gaerwn tipped his head and resumed pacing about the table, every head following him. He'd been at this leader business for so long he practically breathed it now. Seemed the Maker finally got it right on his third go. Lana tried, but she didn't have the stomach to continually order people to their death. Hawke was even worse at it, hiding away in the closet from any semblance of power until it went away. But Gaerwn Lavellan was exactly what thedas needed to guide them all to the next safe rock in these rapids.

"We must trust that our contact not only knows what to do, knows what is at stake, but..." he paused and turned directly towards Dorian, "knows how to elevate those that surround the cause."

Lana hated being the Warden Commander, but she turned a rag tag team of cast offs and second stringers into a fighting force that continued to rattle thedas. Hawke used not allies but her friends, the close ones she turned to in every matter, to fight by her side. She drew them to her not out of a sense of duty but loyalty and love. The Inquisitor it seemed was the same. Years after Corypheus was finished, when people should have long scattered to the wind, and yet they all returned at his request. Andraste only knew how many more of his were out in the field gathering data and keeping an eye out for the wolf.

Maker guide whoever this new contact in Tevinter was. Give him or her the grace and poise to find talent where none do, to gain strength from those friends and allies, and most importantly, to live life just a little. Forgetting that bit of fun, becoming the leader with a heart of stone without thought to levity or...love would be anyone's downfall.

"Now, as to the matter of the Iron Bull's report on a situation in Nevarra..." the Inquisitor turned towards a fresh stack, when a tiny voice broke above him

"Da, da, dada, dada," Gavin babbled, giving his own speech on what he thought should be accomplished. Cullen pinned him closer to his stomach then folded down to skirt his lips over their son's head. That encouraged Gavin more, his hands bouncing against the table as more of the two letter babble erupted.

"An excellent idea," Gaerwn chuckled, "which we will have to table for the next meeting. In the mean time..."

It was the darkest before the dawn. People said that often to her in the days of the Blight. She'd smile and nod, having no easy comeback while thinking 'Dawn is easy to predict, while the end of this terror across thedas may never come.' No one was promised a happy ending. You didn't receive a guarantee from the Maker that after the war was won, and the enemy slain, everything became perfect. Sometimes you lost. An arm. The right to re-enter your own city. Or the ability to stand for long, to face the darkness in your mind without someone at your side.

Holding onto her baby's hand and letting him curl it around her finger, Lana smiled. No matter what was to come, she'd fight. She'd stand up for her baby, for everyone's babies once again because heroes could come from any race, any gender, any part of thedas -- tall, short, massive, wiry -- the options were endless, but they all had one thing in common. Heroes are tenacious bastards.


	26. Black Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The adorable picture of baby Myra with her toy was done by [Space_aged.](http://voidtakeyou.tumblr.com/) Everyone drop by her tumblr and say hi.

_23 Weeks Old..._

 

"Oh give it up, Maurice," Reiss' sighed, her arms crossed as she barely glanced at the armed man. From below the brim of her hat all he could see was the firelight lancing upon her eyes. The river was burning again courtesy of a festival of lights and summer, over time turning into one of depravity and starting things on fire. Someone got it in their heads to float small docks out into the bay with bonfires on top. When they didn't light, what with them being doused in water, another genius added enough oil to burn down an olive grove.

After the first flint struck, nearly half of the Drakon River lit up like Satinalia. In true Ferelden fashion they moved the boats out of the way, jammed a bunch of marshmallows onto sticks, and roasted them while people danced in the background. If you can't stop it, might as well have a few jollies out of your mess before the Watch comes to shut it down.

"You ain't getting shit from me, flat ear," Maurice cursed, spitting at the ground. It was a bit strange to hear that one from a shem, but somehow the underground picked up on it meaning something bad against elves without understanding the what. "You're not even armed. Why should I be afraid of you?"

Reiss rolled her fingers around a small stick in slow contemplation. Barely a glint of metal lifted off her chest courtesy of the armor she'd slapped on before heading off on this quest. "I never said it was me who'd get you to fork it over." She chuckled, tossed the stick out onto the pyre lapping beside their dock, then whistled.

A hundred and twenty pounds of full grown mabari streaked out from between two dry dock boats, leapt into the air, and landed upon Maurice's chest. Snarling teeth dared him to try anything while Muse dripped foaming saliva upon him. "Okay, okay," Maurice gasped. "You win. I'll give it to you. Not like the blighted piece was worth anything. Ain't no one in town willing to touch it after they see the inscription."

Reiss smiled while stepping closer to her dog. She leaned down to stare at the man trapped below and said, "Nice of you to finally see reason. Are you going to go quietly when I let you up, or will you make a fuss?"

"What do you think?" Maurice groaned, all the toothless bite drained out of him.

On her trip back to the agency with prize in hand, Reiss whistled to herself. It wasn't much of a tune, but people waved at her on their way to the parties scattered across town. All of Ferelden was in a jolly mood, but none could top hers. When she opened the door, Muse darted inside first with all the manners of a dog she partially trained. Reiss expected to look over at her people hard at work but the place was empty. Save for the lantern perched upon their front desk, it appeared closed.

"Hello?" Reiss shouted. The door was left wide open, someone had to be there. She eased towards the back with one eye on the shadows, when Lunet's head popped up from around a corner. "Where is everyone?"

"Where do ya think, Rat? It's past nightfall. Kurt's gone home while the rest are off drinking until they nearly fall into a bonfire."

Reiss whipped back to stare at the darkness she'd forgotten about even while using it. Time flooded away from her, the entire day spent scrounging in back alleys and watching from around corners until she spotted her target. Lunet folded her arms tight and sighed, "Well...?"

The spark returned to her win and she lifted her hard won prize over her head. "I got it." Drawing back the scrap of leather, Reiss revealed the golden blade that'd hung in their office since the first days. She'd followed every lead herself, leaving the others to focus on matters that would bring in coin. Often times Reiss would have to bring Myra clinging to her back into old sell-off shops and backrooms to talk business with people that'd sooner chop her ears off to make a purse than talk.

But it was all worth it to have their symbol back where it belonged.

Reiss glanced around the empty office and sighed, "I'd rather hoped everyone else would be around for my triumphant retrieval. We could all share a drink and put it back on the wall together."

At that Lunet chuckled, "Save the hanging ceremony for tomorrow, assuming people aren't drunk enough to accidentally nail their hand up instead. For now..." She slid back towards their working area they'd had to redesign. Some of it was to spread four people over two desks and make it functional, the rest was to fit in the crib. Myra was nestled in it, fast asleep with her mouth open while she snuggled tight to her favorite stuffed nuggalope.

[ ](http://voidtakeyou.tumblr.com/)

Over the passing weeks furniture arrived for their baby, the first being a crib that was sturdy but plain. Reiss had Jorel and Kurt juggle them, much to the dwarves cursing dismay, so that Myra would spend her naps in the cheap one downstairs and her nights up in Reiss' room. There were also packs of clothes, diapers, toys -- Alistair was good on his word and only sent things for the baby which no one blinked an eye at. There was however...

Lunet gestured to her desk, "Our 'mysterious benefactor' sent us a crate of Antivan rum and a basket of muffins. The dwarves ate all the good ones with the berries, but I think there's a rolled oat one remaining if you got the stomach for it."

He wasn't going to let her starve, no matter how stubborn she got about it. Reiss felt stupid for digging her heels in on the matter, realizing with a less clouded head and vengeful heart that she didn't have to hurt herself to be worthy of existence. She was about to tell him that when the packages arrived. Food, usually cakes or little delectables meant for the entire office and signed only 'mysterious benefactor' arrived on the regular. It took all of two seconds for Reiss to figure out who it was, and Lunet five -- not that either woman had to admit the truth.

"Skip the muffin," Reiss said. "I ate enough fried dough to murder a bronto while waiting outside the festival."

Lunet unearthed a set of new mugs, then yanked the cork out of the bottle with her teeth. Through it she asked, "Ain't you supposed to be working?"

While she watched her blue and green mug fill with liquor, Reiss flopped down into her chair, "I was. It's called blending in to not spook your target. Also hungry. You try standing around for hours with that crispy fat scent in the air and not buy some."

Lunet chuckled at that while handing over her mug. Reiss waited until Lunet had hers in hand as well. She turned to her baby deep in sleep and spotted Sylaise guarding over Myra like a great sphinx. The cat liked to perch upon the corner of the crib and stare down at the baby. If Myra so much as twitched in sleep, Sylaise would scurry down to find Reiss and mewl until she checked on her baby. She didn't expect to have a nanny that was so furry, but Reiss was grateful for any help she got.

"How'd things go with her?" Reiss asked.

"Don't go getting all overprotective on me. We played, she ate that mashed goop you left behind, we played a new game called 'Let's tip over Lunet's shit and then laugh as she has to mop up ink.' Then down for the night." Lunet paused and looked over her mug at Reiss. "What? Were you expecting, 'she cried her eyes out all day 'cause she missed her mummy?'"

"Maybe, a little," Reiss sighed at her little girl getting so much bigger every day. "Eh, this isn't the time for melancholy. We should celebrate," she said, clinking her mug into Lunet's.

"Damn straight. Here Rat, to you for digging your heels in and bringing back that stupid sword you never even really cared about."

She summed up the problem only how Lunet could and then tipped her drink back. Lunet could down half the mug in a swallow but Reiss had to go much slower, her tolerance of alcohol taking a big hit after Myra. So many changes that happened after a baby no one ever warned you about, so many problems.

"I never took our 'mysterious benefactor' as the spirits type, outside of something fermented in a shoe at the back of a closet, but this shit's good. Nice and smooth," Lunet damned Alistair with faint praise. She lapped up her drink, then caught Reiss' mostly full mug. Rather than drinking it, she was too focused on her baby slumbering peacefully in the fade.

A day away and Myra didn't even care. Did she already forget about her?

Maker's sake, Rat. Reiss pinched herself and shook her head. She's your daughter, your infant daughter, she loves you. She needs you. Don't be stupid. Taking a greater shot, Reiss had to smack her lips as the fried dough taste mixed with the rum to slide down into her too full stomach. "We'll come back," Reiss swore to herself.

"Aye, we're getting there," Lunet nodded, her eyes turning towards the stack of potential work. People weren't flocking to their doors, but there were more than a few postings to the chantry board they pilfered. Coin was coin at this point. "Do you need me to stay with you for the night?"

"Hm...?" Reiss turned from the case of a missing mirror to face Lunet.

"I was thinking about heading down to the festival by the docks, heard a few more of the elves from Orlais moved into the city. A couple of 'em are real pretty," she winked like her old self, but Reiss spotted the tenderness below. It was her first time getting back out into the cesspool of courting since Harding.

"Sure, sure, you should go on. Meet someone lovely, seduce her, and break her heart," Reiss smiled which caused Lunet to roll her eyes. "Alistair will be coming by later."

Pointing to the dead street and black night, Lunet asked, "Later? How much later can one get?"

"He said it'd be pretty late, something about an emergency meeting which was pissing off all the people who wanted to get the festival. Besides," Reiss turned to the mabari that was eyeing up that oat muffin with the hungriest eyes she'd ever seen, "I have Muse here to keep me company."

"Good to know my presence is outmatched by a slobbering creature that's likely to lick its own genitals before kissing you," Lunet smiled wickedly and Reiss caught on where she was going.

"Don't," she warned, but her friend shifted uncomfortably on her feet, the quip building inside of her like gas. "That's her father," Reiss tipped her head to the sleeping baby unaware of anything going on.

Lunet shrugged, "So you're saying just cause he made another brat I can't poke fun anymore?"

"No, just don't go for such an obvious joke. Really. Anyone here woulda seen it coming a mile away. I expect better from you," Reiss laughed, finishing off her rum.

"Forgive me for not being of sparkling wit after a day of babysitting a squealing dwarf and your half-blood," she meant it as a laugh, but Reiss pursed her lips and turned back to her clearly human baby. Myra remained long for her age, but sure enough the chubby fat rolls appeared around her midsection and thighs. It was achingly adorable, leaving many to comment about wishing to eat her baby, but it wasn't elven. Nothing about her was.

"Hey," Lunet touched her shoulder, "there ain't nothing wrong with the half-bloods."

"Really? Would you date one?" Reiss turned on her, well aware of Lunet's opinions when it came to bedding shems.

At that she paused and then frowned, "Maybe. If she weren't too much of a prig one way or the other. Have to admit to being elfy, but they tend to all hide it away. Never want a knife-ear on their arm neither cause that ruins their secret. Your little one's different though. She knows where she comes from."

"Yeah, lucky her," Reiss sighed. It was her choice to keep Myra down in the dregs; she prayed her daughter wouldn't come to resent her for it.

"Anyway," Lunet flipped her mug up and left it on the desk, "I'm out. See ya tomorrow for the big hanging celebration. Maybe I'll even bring a cake for it." After grabbing her coat, Lunet slipped half an arm around to hug Reiss while standing, then glanced down at Myra. What used to be a cautious 'I'm not certain about this thing' look now appeared as if Lunet was melting from the baby's dreamy smile.

Shaking it off, Lunet slipped towards the door, "See ya later, Rat." Her words rang out as she closed it tight. Even from in the back, Reiss watched the silhouette of Lunet drifting towards the docks, her head held high as she went on the prowl. Good for her. Harding had been Lunet's first serious love as far as Reiss was aware and while she never let on that anything hurt her, Lune had been less than flirty of late. Even her crass assessments dwindled down to the occasional "Yeah, she's pretty. I suppose."

"Your Auntie Lunet's going to be a terrible influence," Reiss chuckled to herself, before weighing the idea of her friend telling a teen Myra all the tricks of a proper romance. "Maker, I hope she waits until you're sixteen before you get the full lay of the land."

Taking a longer swig of her drink, Reiss gazed around at what she'd accomplished in the past weeks. It'd been long hours, Myra often having to be left in the company of Lunet or the others. She didn't seem to mind, her baby quickly warming to just about anyone that came into view. Quite a lot like her father in that.

Alistair, of course, was not happy. He tried to pretend he was at least okay with this, but Reiss knew him well enough to know when he was faking things. There'd been a good dozen jokes around drainpipes while they'd said quick goodbyes outside the palace before she and Myra had to return home. If there was another way, Reiss would find it. She'd move thedas itself so he could be with his baby girl, but life didn't work that way. It wasn't blighted fair, certainly never to her.

And not often to him, either.

"Oh Myra, the second you start crying for your daddy I may crumble," she groaned, her head pitching towards the desk. Warm fur rubbed up against Reiss' arm and she turned to find Sylaise beaming those old yellow eyes at her. "How are you holding up with the baby? Bet you thought you were done watching over 'em, eh?" She scritched along the cat's head, getting a great rumble of a purr from below all that grey fur.

Reiss glanced over at Muse who was happily curled up in his bed. It was designed for a dog three sizes smaller but the doofy thing thought he fit and refused to sleep in anything else. The whole office pitched in to help raise their own mabari, which was probably what was going to happen with Myra. Try as hard as she liked it Jorel would teach her baby girl how to pick locks, Lunet would fill her mind with every possible swear word in thedas, from Kurt she'd learn the trick to forging numbers without anyone noticing, and Qimat how to subdue an enemy without uncrossing your arms. Perhaps there'd be some lady lessons in there, Alistair made mention of a tutor like the one the princess had. How to curtsy, the right fork to use, the difference between a baron and a count. All things that wouldn't serve a half-blood girl a lick down here in the gutters.

Staggering to her feet, Reiss glanced down at her baby, all tuckered out from a day of learning dastardly deeds and how to circumvent them. For now it was nonsense to her developing brain, but soon it'd begin to stick. With her pristine blonde hair slicked around her head, and her eyes shut tight against the light, Myra looked like an angel. In her fussing, she'd kicked up the edge of her sleep dress until it revealed her pale tummy. Reaching down, Reiss tried to smooth it back where it belonged without disturbing her sleeping baby.

That would be a criminal offense in here. Wake the baby and you'd get ten lashes or a stack of reports to fill out by long hand. Most would probably take the lashes. As she lay out the ivory hem, her fingers riffled across the embroidered words "you're family." Reiss didn't remember dressing Myra in her sister's gown, she was in such a hurry to retrieve the sword she grabbed the first thing she could find.

"One day," Reiss whispered to her daughter, "I'll take you to see your aunt in Val Royeaux. Though I should warn you, she'll probably lecture you on your posture and diction."

A sound echoed from outside the street, strange enough to draw Reiss from her sleeping baby. She glanced up just as a black bird dove headfirst through their new window. Instead of the bird thudding into it with a broken neck, the glass shattered at impact. Reiss bent over her daughter's crib shielding her from any spray of slicing rain. As the sound of falling glass faded away, Reiss looked down. Green eyes peeked up from her nap, Myra roused at the noise but unharmed.

With her daughter safe, she glanced up expecting to find blood and a dead crow to deal with, but the bird sat on the floor, its beady yellow eye glaring at her. Reiss instinctively took a step forward when the very air bent inward. Instead of pulling her towards it like a gust of wind, shadows twisted around the creature. She fumbled for a handhold when the what had to be magic, though she'd never seen nor heard of anything like it, stopped.

A woman stood where the bird had, hair as dark as the feathers with the same haunting yellow eyes. She wiped a bit of shattered glass off her shoulder as if it were lint then stepped towards Reiss. Certainty glittered in those haunting eyes.

"What do you...?" Reiss asked when the woman waved her hand. Reiss' entire body froze solid, not in ice, but as if the air itself held her. A hundred imaginary hands clung to her arms, legs, head, shoulders. She couldn't even move a finger or speak as the woman stepped past her to gaze down into the crib.

"I am sorry for this," was all she said stopping to hover above Reiss' baby.

No. _No!_ Reiss screamed mentally at herself, willing her mind to move anything in her body. She could stop this woman, she had to. Rage boiled in her veins as the woman circled closer to the crib. Not even bothering to care about the mother she paralyzed, this intruder -- this witch -- dipped down and began to reach towards Myra.

Her baby's eyes opened at the stranger and a great wail erupted. The woman froze a moment, and Reiss prayed Myra's cries would stop this, halt whatever evil plan she had. But the woman hardened her heart and reached into the crib. Lashing faster than the eye could see, Sylaise stuck her claws deep into the woman's hand.

She reared back from Myra and, with her terrifying magic, hurled the cat across the room. A sickening crunch erupted where Sylaise landed against the desk, her body falling at the wrong angle and slumping off to the fireplace below.

Maker! No...not her cat. The woman barely blinked at the life she snuffed out or her blood dribbling on the back of her hand as she returned to steal the baby.

Get out of this.

Move!

Reiss roared inside her head, the feral cry that ripped apart any who dared to hurt her, hurt the ones she loved. Stretching with every muscle in her body, a pop reverberated in the air and she was free of her prison. Stumbling forward in three steps, Reiss snatched up the golden sword off her desk.

The woman turned, realizing her magic failed, when Reiss slashed the blade towards her. She dodged too quickly, but Reiss drew it back again and again. One struck! A nick of blood dribbled out of a gash against the witch's arm. Glancing at the wound, the woman sneered and raised her hands.

Oh, fuck you!

Reiss ran forward at the witch, a shoulder down as if she intended to plow her over. At the last second she twisted in a circle and jammed the sword backwards. The mage danced away, but not fast enough as it bit through meat and the woman screamed in pain.

"No one touches my daughter," Reiss hissed, yanking the sword free and spinning to take down this woman in one more blow. She'd almost stabbed into the thigh artery but was too low. Blood spurted out of the long cut in the mage's skirt, coating the floor and her shoes in the crimson gore as she scrabbled backwards. No toying, no giving this bitch a chance, no letting her explain it. Reiss shifted her arms around, the sword aiming right for her neck.

She took a step forward when the witch's eyes lit up, her hands lifted and the force of a hurricane shattered against Reiss. Her body flew through the air along with her desk, until both splattered against the wall. Reiss fell first, pain exploding behind her eyes as first her back struck the wall, then her chest plummeted onto the ground.

No.

Get up!

Get up, now!

Her brain screamed at her, but her body was spent. Darkness faded in and out, light bringing flickers of the strange woman lifting Myra from her crib, her baby screaming at this intruder until the witch waved her fingers and then stillness. No! Myra! An uncaring yellow eye turned on Reiss' fallen body, then she vanished out the door.

No...

Blackness took her, the faint trying to swaddle Reiss in its embrace. Let go, there's no pain here. No loss. Only sleep.

Pain.

"Gah!" Reiss' fingers stumbled towards her side where she found something impaled into her gut. Yanking it out, she spotted the Maker damn nameplate Jorel insisted he needed broke a good inch into her skin. She cursed him, and her for being stupid enough to let him get it, while trying to sop up the blood. It was a trickle for her, the wound mostly of the battering type. Her body felt as if a golem danced a jig upon her, but she sucked in a breath.

Rising up to her feet, Reiss was cursing every word Lunet taught her when her eyes landed upon the empty crib. Grief ripped open her soul, her heart shredded as she limped towards it praying that somehow, someway Myra slipped to the floor. That she was safe, giggling under Mommy's desk and waiting for a new game.

Please. Tears flooded her eyes as she stared down at the indent where her daughter's little body should be. No. Maker, no. Not this! How could...?

A glint of crimson gold caught Reiss' eye and she wiped away her mess of grief to stare at the sword. Coated in the witch's blood, it fell where her daughter should be. The sword she was given for standing up against someone that would hurt her own, kill her own. Every ounce of grief fled from her as rage took control.

Reiss stared around the place to find Muse cowered in the corner, tossed in the attack same as her. "You're not too badly hurt," she said, finding a few splinters and some glass shards in his fur, luckily nothing fatal. "But..." Only a tuft of grey fur was visible from where Sylaise landed, no breath shifting the still body. "I swear to the Maker we will find her and we will kill her. I will kill her with my bare hands if I must."

Staggering out into the street, Reiss spotted the drip of blood. She'd wounded the mage badly and unless the woman could grow wings, she wasn't getting far. With one hand gripping tight to her midsection, and Muse at her side, Reiss trailed the blood away from her place.

_Why did she do this?_

_To strike back at Reiss? Was she the sister or wife of someone Reiss had put away? Or was it for ransom?_

"Maker," Reiss gritted breath broke through the still air, nary a soul existing in this dark world save the two set on vengeance, "keep my baby safe, watch over her until she...until she's in my arms again."


	27. Witch Hunt

He knew something was wrong by the door wedged open, light leeching into the warm summer darkness. One part of Alistair's brain told him that it was a nice night out, they were trying to get a cool breeze through, but as he jogged closer towards the agency he spotted the broken window. Sense drained from him along with all the blood in his cheeks. Maker, no. Not again!

Barreling into the wedged door with his shoulder to fully open it, he stared around the room at a massacre. Blood stains were dripped across the floor as if someone with a wound limped over it, while more crimson splattered the walls. Desks crumpled together on the far side of the office, one shattered in half again by a force that may even put Qimat to shame.

"Reiss," he shouted, his hands cupped to his mouth. There was no one here, no Lunet clucking her tongue at his interrupting a jelly throwing contest, or the dwarf twins trying to mop up their mess before the boss came in. "Reiss, where are...?" Alistair turned and spotted a small grey body broken beside the fireplace. Leaning towards it, the lump grew three sizes in his throat at Sylaise, her yellow eyes open wide in terror before death claimed her.

"Maker's breath, Reiss," Alistair bounded past the broken desks and debris, his shoes splattering in the fresh blood to try and find his wife and their daughter. At Myra's crib he froze. A sword lay where his baby girl should be sleeping; a sword covered in blood.

"Reiss, please, don't you dare have been hurt! I swear to Andraste, if you're not..." Alistair bounded up the stairs three at a time. He continued to dole out barely thought upon threats while taking what felt hours to rifle through Reiss' one room apartment. In reality, it was perhaps a minute or two at most, but time stretched into an eternity while his wretched brain kept piecing together the most obvious situation.

They came back for her. Despite every Maker damn warning her gave her, they returned for Reiss, and she alone couldn't fight them off. She was hurt, but...not here, not dead or dying. Would they take their daughter as well? Or did she try to run for safety with Myra?

Hurling her blanket back onto the bed, Alistair rose from checking under it and dashed back down to the ground floor. Bloody footsteps -- large, so probably his, but there were smaller ones, focused ones that led out into the street. He was no tracker, not like the way of people who'd sniff and eat dirt and stank of druffalo dung on purpose. Snatching up a broken chair leg, Alistair held it to the lamplight. It caught, at first the blue flame dancing but with no mage to tame it, the blue transformed into proper yellow and orange fire.

He waved the torch close to the ground, noting pools of something wet and shiny in the dry mud. Thank the Maker the summer rains hadn't returned. Jogging into the night, Alistair followed the trails of blood. They twisted away from the docks and around any clusters of people who'd be celebrating. Strange, Reiss would have found help there first. Or could have blended in with all the party goers.

What was going on?

Turning twice more to the right, Alistair skirted along the outside wall of the alienage. Fires danced over the elven walls, voices singing in triumph and joy, everyone unaware that the woman he loved could be curled up on the street dying with their baby in her arms. No. This isn't the time to panic. Do it later, when she's safe, and then you can ream her out for this. While you're holding them both.

He reached the end of a T intersection, the two back paths bending away when he realized there was no more blood to follow. _Damn it!_ Alistair waved the torch first towards the north, walking further along in the hopes more splatter would emerge, but it looked clean, not even the yellow grass disturbed. Turning on his heel, he ran back to the intersection and moved to the south.

The torchlight lit upon dry, broken ground, uninteresting and beaten down by dozens of boots. He was so invested in the speckles of unstained grass, it wasn't until he nearly stepped on a paw and felt hot, sticky breath wafting over him that Alistair heard a growl. Looking up into a mabari's entire set of teeth, lips tugged as far back as they could go, he lifted both hands in submission. The torch scattered from his fingers, the fire dousing itself against the ground.

"Whoa now, let's not do anything hasty here. I'm told I taste terrible," he said, inching backwards and trying to see if there was a ladder he could scurry up to escape. The mabari followed suit, the hair along its back in full on 'I'm going to rip your flesh off your bones and eat you in one gulp' mode.

Great time to not think to bring a weapon.

"Alistair?" a voice called from the darkness.

"Reiss?" he prayed he heard right and it wasn't just his fevered brain throwing up illusions.

"Muse," she sounded strained, as if speaking through a gut wound. Please no, not one of those. "Down."

The dog he now recognized as the puppy he gave her, plopped down onto its butt. While the teeth slipped away behind calm lips, the fur didn't fully deflate. This wasn't a happy reunion. Alistair slid past the mabari, keeping one watchful eye upon him, then stared around the dark alley to find his wife. "Reiss? Where are you? What's going on?"

He spotted a shadow slumped to the ground, a hand inside the coat while her head tipped back against the house. Alistair dropped down to his knees trying to find where she was injured, but Reiss lashed her hands out and grabbed onto his shoulders.

"She took her! Myra! That...that witch stole my baby and I, I tried to stop her."

"Reiss, I don't understand," Alistair patted at her side but couldn't find any blood pooling off her. "The mob...?"

"It wasn't a mob!" Reiss sneered, "A witch broke into my house, threw me against the wall, and stole Myra away."

"A witch?" There were few mages in Denerim anymore, most trying to find solitude out in the countryside away from wary eyes, but the ones living here didn't strike him as the stealing children type.

Reiss tipped her head up into the bright starlight revealing tears flooding down her face. She was covered in dirt and blood, both smeared over her cheeks. "You won't believe me. I barely believe me, and I was there. I saw it. This...bird flew through our window, shattered it, and then a woman appeared from it."

Alistair fell flat on his ass, denial trying to take over, "A woman turned into a bird?"

"No, the other way around. I know, it sounds crazy. Magic can't..."

It couldn't be her. After all these years, he thought, he assumed she'd never dare to show her face anywhere near him nor Ferelden. Wasn't that what Lanny promised? What that bitch said? Reiss fell silent, watching Alistair glare through the past rising up to attack him.

"What did she look like?" he snapped at Reiss.

"Jet black hair all a mess, and yellow eyes. The most piercing yellow eyes I've ever seen."

Fuck. Maker take them all!

Alistair smashed his fist into the ground, a wail of vengeance and agony trying to climb up his throat. Before he could tip back and scream it out, Reiss' trembling hand rose up his shoulder and he stared into her stricken eyes. "You believe me?"

"I do, I..." It was his fault. Somehow, for some reason, the bitch came back to hurt him. "It's Morrigan," he spat out, unable to look at Reiss while speaking the vile woman's name.

"Morrigan? Is she the one who...?"

"Yes."

"What the fuck does she want with our daughter?" Reiss shouted, her strength returning as she realized she had Alistair fully on her side.

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out," Alistair reached down and scooped Reiss up into his arms. He carried her back to the agency, neither of them saying a word but occasionally grunting in agony or pain. It felt as if his teeth were going to explode from how tight he was grinding his jaw. Morrigan.

After all these years. All this time...

Alistair placed Reiss down on the desk and moved to lift away her coat. "Did she hurt you? Curse you? Use any blood magic on you?"

"I don't know, I don't think so. The blood in here was from me," she said, lifting up her shirt to reveal a giant black and blue bruise up and down her side. Pinpricks of blood broke through it, something having impaled into her. When Reiss removed her shirt, she broke the scab formed against the fabric and the wound began to bleed again.

Yanking off his own shirt, Alistair tried to stop her bleeding, then glanced around, "Your wound bled this much?"

"No, I got her with...with the sword in, in," Reiss glanced back towards their baby's crib. The crib that should hold a little girl gnawing on her foot and blowing bubbles, not a weapon coated in the blood of a traitor. Tears bubbled up in her eyes again, but she squeezed her fist tight and cut them off.

Staring down a moment, Reiss sneered, "I thought it'd slow her down, it did for a time. I was nearly on her trail when she just vanished. I don't know what happened."

Alistair yanked back his shirt to find she'd stopped bleeding, but that wound was going to be agonizing for a good week. It nearly covered the side of her entire ribcage. That bitch!

And it was all on him. Morrigan couldn't care less about some elf's child living outside the slums. No, she did this to strike back at him, to hurt him, to use him or the crown for her own demented plans. He curled his hand up, strangling the blood dotted shirt while snarling at thin air.

Fingers skirted up his arm until landing upon the cheek. Alistair glanced into Reiss' eyes, the tears falling, "What are we going to do?"

"We find that witch, we make her pay."

"How?" Reiss moaned, her head flopping down until she stared helplessly at the ground.

That was a good question. In all the years since the Blight, Alistair hadn't seen Morrigan once. Even Lanny, the only person in this blighted world the bitch ever called friend saw her all of twice. They needed a way to track her, to sniff her out of...

He stepped away to peer down at the sword, blood glistening against the golden blade. Would that work?

"Reiss? Do you have a clean bottle here?"

"Yeah, in the second drawer. Fresh ones that were already scoured. Why?" She tried to ease off the desk, but crumpled to a ball.

Alistair gripped onto her a moment before fishing out a small blue bottle. The chantry always used clear, but it was doubtful the color mattered much. Careful to lift the sword horizontally, Alistair placed the bottle's open mouth against the tip and then slowly tipped the blade vertical. The witch's blood didn't stink of rotten eggs, nor was it a putrid green. She probably wasn't in cahoots with any demons, assuming Morrigan wasn't really a demon the entire time they knew her.

"What are you doing?" Reiss ignored her pain in order to stand up beside him, her eyes glaring at the ink bottle holding a few drops of blood.

Maker, he hoped that was enough.

"I need to find a templar and a mage," Alistair eyed up the precious fluid before stoppering it safely. This may be their only chance. "It has to be tonight or it'll dry and won't work."

"Why? What are you doing with her blood?"

"A phylactery, it's a way to track mages, to track Morrigan. She can't escape it, can't hide from it." He never wanted to be a templar. All but cheered the end of the order along with the mages, but he'd happily brand the bitch that stole his child away from her mother's arms.

"Will that work?" Reiss drove right to the question.

"I've done it before," Alistair admitted, "the tracking part. I've never made one, which is why I need help, but...it'll do it. I need to contact Lanny too, she... For some Maker damned reason she may get the witch to see sense." He knew a few people in the chantry who'd be awake now, but fuck it, if he needed to pull the Grand Cleric out of her bed to save his daughter he damn well would.

"I'll get the phylactery made, should give me a sense of where Morrigan's gone. Build up a cavalcade of guards I trust, warn Lanny through the sending crystal, and I'll head out at dawn to bring back Myra." Saying those words froze him. His daughter was missing, his infant girl taken in the night and left in the trust of a witch that he... Scowling, Alistair bundled his revulsion deeper. He could hate later, the blood wouldn't keep long.

"Alistair," Reiss reached out, her hand skirting up him, "I'm coming with."

"You're injured, maybe not fatally, but..."

Green eyes flared in his, the woman he loved, who fought like a razorback at his side and on his behalf, gripped onto his shoulder, "I'm going with to get back my baby, and when I do, I'm gutting the witch that took her from me."

 

* * *

 

Winds whipped against the forest just outside the inn. Okay, inn was a bit of a misnomer; it was really someone's house who was kind enough to let the King and his garrison of four burly guards crash for the night. They'd ridden hard for a day, only stopping because the sun finally dipped into the horizon. Reiss was willing to risk camping, but with her injury he refused to let her hurt herself even more than necessary. Luckily, all of the citizens of Ferelden just adored their goofy King appearing on their doorstep asking if they had an extra bed or three to lone out for a song.

He left Reiss in the fancy room the homeowners gifted their Sovereign, her wound weeping because she didn't take the time to properly heal it. They set out at dawn's light, at first riding away from the sun then towards it. Alistair would look over at her from time to time, but her face was impossible to read under the hat. Any attempts at talking were met with a few grunts.

Glancing over his shoulder, he spotted a few of his men seeming to be milling around in the back end of this house as if they didn't disobey his order to leave him be, but all needed to take a leak together. As if they weren't given the orders to keep their King both alive and from doing something stupid by the far scarier Chamberlain. It didn't matter if they overheard at this point, he was out of options. Fishing out of his pocket the gem he sent a very terrified young man to pilfer from the Hero of Ferelden's memorial statue, Alistair placed it against his skin and waited.

It took a bit before her husky voice called through the air, "Ali? You there?"

"It's me," he said. He'd turned away from his guards, but at the sound of their King talking a few heads twisted over to check on him. Oh well, he was known for being flippant, why not tack crazy on as well. "Where are you?"

"Outside of Lothering, what used to be Lothering. Which is still a mess. A few city tents popped up, mostly wanderers, but they let us stay. I guess two people with a baby aren't really seen as much of a threat."

Lanny spoke it with a bit of a shrug and laugh, but at the word baby Alistair's throat constricted tight. He lashed out at the bush beside him and wrapped his fist tight around a branch. Somewhere out there was his daughter, no doubt scared, cold, and probably starving. Morrigan sure as shit wasn't going to be able to feed her, not that a witch's teat could leak anything but frozen acid.

"Ali...Alistair?"

Her voice snapped him out of it and Alistair found he'd ripped all the leaves off the branch. Trying to tuck it back in so no one would notice the bush's bald patch, he spoke up, "I'm here, near uh, Dragon's Peak, I think."

"What's the phylactery say?"

He fumbled into his pocket, gripping tight to the ink bottle they'd sealed in wax. It was good to have power, and friends in high places. Anyone else would have kicked his ass out of the chantry for even asking. The Grand Cleric barely batted an eye as she called her aging templar protector to help prepare it. Even then, no one was certain if it would work, the blood being older and near everyone long out of practice making one.

"Further west from me, I..." he tried to press his fingers tighter to the glass, the bottle's edge digging into his flesh, "I can't get anything better than that."

"Hm..." Lana's voice faded, only a few mumbles carrying over the distance and through the stone. "Yes, I'll ask. Cullen's wondering if you can see anything around that will give us a hint as to where she's gone. Visions of the grass or lay of the land? Stars perhaps?"

"No," Alistair confessed, his chin flopping down. "No, I can't because...I'm a shit templar, unlike him. A shame my daughter couldn't have a real one to protect her, to guard her. I bet he wouldn't have even let it happen. He'd have sensed a witch near him and cut her down without a thought."

The line fell dead, Alistair cursing himself for being a failure. For letting his Wheaty out of his sight, for not planning on anyone daring to steal Myra away. If he was a better man it never would have happened.

"Ali," Lanny whispered, "We will find her."

"What if it's too late?" he gasped, dread filling his heart.

"Morrigan wouldn't do anything to hurt a baby..."

He snarled, "What do you know of the witch? What do you really know? She lied to us, both of us, for over a year. And now she's stolen my daughter to do Maker knows what filthy blood ritual. She could have already slit her throat and tossed her..."

"Alistair, stop!" Lanny ordered. "Thinking that we've lost, being defeatist won't help. We'll get there. I'm going to keep in communication with you as often as possible. I hope we'll find Morrigan first to try and cut off her escape."

No, Lanny wanted to get to her first to try and reason with the witch. She truly believed there must be some explanation, some excuse for why she did it. Lanny was too big hearted to believe that one of her old friends would think nothing of murdering a child for her own means. She never really saw Morrigan for the snake she was.

"Gavin, no, don't put that in your mouth...!" her voice faded as she was no doubt racing to stop her baby from attempting to hurt himself. Holding him. Feeding him. Hugging him. Whispering how much she loved him every night.

"Maker's breath," Alistair gasped, tears burning in his eyes. A pain radiated up his chest, and he clung tight to the armor strapped across it. Attempting to lift it off was doing nothing, his heart shattering below the creaking ribs. "Lanny, I...I have to go," he tried to speak without blubbering, but wasn't very successful.

"Ali, it'll--."

"Don't," he interrupted her, "don't tell me that things will be alright. You've got your son and I have..." He shook his head, this wasn't her fault. She was trying to help, "I have to go check on Reiss. Keep me updated, and I'll keep tabs on the phylactery."

"Okay," was as far as she got before Alistair cut the connection. He dropped the amulet into his pocket, strode deeper into the forest, crouched down, and bawled his eyes out.

The guards were kind enough to shuffle around, doing their best to ignore the grown man weeping like a child. Losing people in his life stung, as any deaths would. Duncan and all the Wardens dying turned Alistair sullen and inward, but he only risked a few tears here and there when he thought no one was looking. The loss at Ostagaar couldn't compare to the one battering his body to shreds. This was someone ripping apart his chest, yanking his heart out while he watched, and burying it in salt. He felt helpless, as weak as a newborn kitten while also wrathful, his fists often clenching as he imagined all the ways he'd disembowel Morrigan for this. She'd pay, even if Lanny got there first, found some reason behind it.

Alistair didn't care. He was going to watch that witch's blood dribble off the end of his sword for this no matter what.

The hatred shored up his tears and he rose out of his crouch. His leg muscles screamed in agony from it, a fire burning up them, but he walked about in a circle to try and shake it off. This wasn't the time for his body to complain, they had so much more road left to ride across.

"Sire," one of the voices called out of the darkness, "do you need any help?"

"No," he waved a hand, wishing he knew anyone who could help him. "I'm going to go inside to check on Reiss."

"Very good, my Lord."

The homeowners smiled at their King, who could only offer a small wave back. They were concerned that he didn't find things amenable and, as much as Alistair knew he should be playing the game, he couldn't bother. Not while his heart was being stolen into the night by a witch. Barely tipping his head to them, Alistair trudged up the stairs. At the largest bedroom, he paused and tried to wipe away any hint of tears. His falling apart was the last thing Reiss needed.

She'd been a rock the entire ride. One hand gripped tight to the reins, while the other rested against the sword in her scabbard. The dagger was back in her hair, her Solver hat and coat abandoned for full armor. There were no tears in those summery eyes, only vengeance. It was so intimidating it made Alistair flinch at how easily he crumbled if he dared to think about their daughter's golden waves, or her sharp, tiny nails slicing into his cheek on accident when she leaned forward to kiss him.

Opening the door, Alistair slid into the well furnished room. Reiss' back was to him, her head tipped down as she sat on the vanity bench. She must not have heard him as she didn't look over, her hands worrying something in front of her. Closing the door softly, Alistair yanked up his hair and said, "I spoke with Lanny. She's near Lothering and heading out towards..."

His words faded as Reiss sat up fast. She turned over to look at him with eyes as red as blood. The tears wouldn't stop, silently pooling down her cheeks. In her shifting, the blanket she threw over her back fell off to reveal she was topless. Both of her hands were worrying her breast as if trying to unscrew it from her chest.

"Reiss...?" Alistair stumbled towards her, his hand cupping against her naked shoulder.

"It," she sucked in the pooling despair to try and get a word out, "without Myra they're...in agony. I don't know what to do! I need my baby to suck them dry. To release this pressure, but it's...I'm sorry." She whipped her head away as if she'd failed in any way.

"Oh, Reiss," he wrapped his hands around her, pulling her face towards his chest in a hug.

"I have to clear it...or infection might. They hurt so bad and all I want is. Maker damn it, all I want is my baby!" She exploded into sobs, her face crushing into his chest while Alistair soothed back her hair. He had nothing to say to fix this, his own heart broken. Pressing his lips to the top of her head, he tried to envelope the woman he loved tight into his embrace. The despair she swallowed for an entire day erupted from her, tears staining his chest and her lips wailing for the child stolen from them.

Alistair was scared to think of Myra, to dwell upon her for more than a moment because...because it may be all they had left. The memory of her tiny hands clinging to theirs, her happy laugh, those bight green eyes gazing up in wonder. Her hatred of socks and need to kick all her blankets into a wad at the bottom of the crib.

Oh Maker!

He began to bawl too, his salty tears dripping into Reiss' hair while she moaned against him. She was stepping back, the armor slotting into place, just as Alistair came undone yet again. When Reiss lifted away from him, he tipped his head up to try and hide his despair. But she gripped onto his cheeks and tugged him down to her. Butting her forehead against his, they both cried together, admitting that neither of them were made of stone.

"What if we...?"

"We'll find her!"

"If it's too late?"

"We'll ride faster!"

Impossible to know who said which, both parents playing optimist and pessimist in equal measure while the winds shifted below them. The only reason either of them were still standing was the rage burning in their hearts. The only reason they didn't turn feral from the anger was the hope that they'd see Myra again. Reiss could cover her chubby cheeks in kisses and Alistair would mash all her hair straight up until it wafted back and forth like wheat fields.

Reiss was the first to come back from their sorrow fugue. She didn't wipe the tears off her cheeks, her hands busy trying to knead away the pain in her breasts. "You said Lana has a plan?"

He rolled his eyes hard at that, needing to take his anger out on someone. The fact Lanny wasn't here to shout him down for it helped immeasurably. "When doesn't she have a plan? They should have named her Plannema Plannerson, the Queen of Plans. I..." Alistair stumbled at Reiss' fingers cupping against the scruff on his cheek. He'd started this with a fresh shave in anticipation of some stupid little holiday that didn't matter. Nothing did until they saved Myra and punished...

"I know Lanny. She thinks she can fix this, get Morrigan to see reason." Maybe it was for the best to let her deal with the witch. Assuming their baby was safe, that she was returned unharmed and no demons inside of her or in her future, then...what was the point of caring what happened to Morrigan?

Reiss went quiet a moment, her hand flexing into a fist and releasing. "Do you think she would retaliate when I slit the witch's throat?"

"I don't..." The good, chantry boy Alistair convinced himself he was wanted to talk Reiss down, to tell her that revenge never solved anything. The spiteful creature he knew existed inside of him, that cut down Loghain without thought for how the traitor could still serve Ferelden, refused. "We can stop Lanny. If not me, her husband won't be happy about protecting a witch. Templars, finally good for something. Who knew?"

She nodded her head a moment, then winced from the pain. Reiss yanked up a washcloth and tried to rub steaming hot water over her breasts, but if it was helping she gave no signs. The pain was so excruciating, her fingers began to shake and the cloth slipped free, but Alistair caught it and carefully pressed against her skin. What had once been soft and pliant pillows felt like hard rocks, hot as a fire.

"Reiss," he swallowed, afraid that this could lead to something dangerous if not dealt with.

"I don't know what to do. Maker take me, but I could express some of it if I had Myra. She sometimes gets distracted and thinks eating is boring. Yet I'm apparently making enough milk to feed the Alienage."

"Eating boring? Are you certain that's my daughter?" Alistair tried to laugh, tried to get the mother in monumental pain to laugh. She did at least roll a side eye at him. Small progress. Dunking the washcloth back into the water, Alistair cupped his palm to her cheek, "What do you need me to do?"

"It's..." she bit her lip an idea in her head but she seemed unwilling to voice it. "If you could, um, prime the pump so to speak I think I could get enough out to calm the burn."

"Prime the...?" Alistair squinted, fully confused, when it hit him.

"Please don't make say it. I don't think I could take it if I had to--."

"Shh," he reached over and swooped his hands around her for a hug, "it's okay. It's not that weird." At that Reiss glared at him, but he held his hands up, "Believe me, the stuff I read in reports from the spymaster would turn your hair white. Why do you think I'm so grey already. I'll tell you a few of the really depraved ones involving a scarecrow and three golden nugs after I'm finished."

Trying to put any sense of this being both awkward and sexual out of his mind, Alistair focused only on helping her. Still... He kissed her on the lips, sweet and soft, before taking her nipple in his mouth and sucking. It must have been instinct that Reiss began to play with his hair, needing to unweird this connection between them while he tried to manage something even infants could. She wished it was Myra, he wished it was Myra, but it couldn't be. Not yet.

When the first drops of milk landed on his tongue, he rose up. Reiss took over quickly, trying to knead her breasts to dribble more out. It didn't spray the way a cow's did, more splattered across her naked stomach and thighs. Alistair snatched up the washcloth and tried to clean up the life-giving mess as she cleared it from her flesh. Neither spoke, just watched and tended to a case of bodies being bodies.

It wasn't until the first breast calmed, that Reiss spoke. She didn't look up from her chest, but he could hear the tears in her words. "I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to...this is all my fault. If I'd only listened to..."

"It's okay," Alistair dropped to his knees and wrapped himself tight to her stomach in a hug, "Don't blame yourself. This is Morrigan's doing. Blame the witch. Who we will find. She can't run from a phylactery, she can't hide from it. And...we'll find our daughter. We'll hug her, and kiss her, and tickle her until she farts."

That got Reiss to laugh a moment, her tears slowing but not stopping. "If we'd stayed at the palace..."

"Morrigan would have found a way in. It's what she does, she's always been a sneaky witch thief."

"When this is over she'll be a dead witch thief," Reiss vowed, her soul dark with purpose.

Alistair nodded, staggering higher on his knees to try and look in her eyes. "Count on it," he promised. Whatever was to come, whatever the Maker had in store for their baby, at the end of it would be his and her blades covered in Morrigan's blood. That was the only thing he was certain of in his heart.

"Now," he tried to smile, his foolish face back in place, "I believe there is one more pump I have to prime."

"You're terrible," Reiss snickered, even while turning to give him access.

"That wasn't my euphemism. Do you want to know what it tastes like?" he asked even while locking his lips around her.

"Maker's sake, no. Why would I care?" she laughed, grateful for anything to break away the doom over their heads. After a breath, Reiss brushed her hands over his hair and whispered, "I love you."

He loved her too, but had his mouth a little too full to tell her.


	28. Confrontation

In the distance, Lana spotted the tell tale sign of royal guards doing their best to pretend they're not. They'd been far enough back it was unlikely Morrigan spotted them coming, but still, leaving a banner out wasn't wise. Why was it so difficult to convince those practically bred with protocol in their veins to let it go once in awhile? She gestured to Cullen then tugged her horse towards the cave Alistair tracked Morrigan to. Lana was traveling relatively light, leaving her husband to carry both their belongings and son. Thank the Maker their baby was such a good traveler and the weather was on their side for this. She didn't know what she'd have done otherwise.

Tugging the horse to a slow trot, Lana eased her closer towards the circle of well armed soldiers. They all spotted her first, each man standing at attention, when she called out, "Alistair?"

The guards turned in a pack to their King, each one flinching at her using their royal monarch's proper name, but Alistair looked up and smiled. It was a pained one, the teeth gritted to keep from screaming, but he was trying. "Lanny, thank the Maker you made it." He rose from his haunches, then offered a hand to the woman beside him. Reiss looked less like a grief stricken woman, more a soldier sent on a suicide mission. Her fingers strangled the grip of a sword, the shoulders hunched as she kept focused upon the underbrush.

Alistair grabbed onto Lana's horse to try and silence its stomping hooves, "We've got all our mounts further away so as not to tip off...to keep quiet," he needlessly explained before glancing over at Cullen. "And you brought backup," Alistair said quickly. She braced herself for whatever insult he had brewing, but he tipped his head to her husband and spat out a curt, "Good."

Cullen dismounted on his own, while Alistair helped Lana off. "What's the situation?"

"Morrigan's inside," he sneered, "stopped moving about a day ago. Just arrived ourselves. Been scouting for signs of traps outside but nothing."

"She just stopped here for a day?" Lana rustled up under her saddle bag and yanked out the cane Cullen made her. This one lit up bright red when she activated it, the veins of magic thicker than anything she'd ever had before. It seemed a strange fate that the templar was becoming quite a skilled enchanter.

Reiss drew closer to them, her face cast in shadow from a hood tucked up, but even through the darkness Lana could see pain etched deep in her eyes like lyrium in the stone. "We know what you're thinking."

"That Morrigan's aware we're following her and has set up defenses inside that cave to take us out," Lana filled in.

The elf nodded, "It's why we waited for you. Backup." Her eyes flared with murderous vengeance until a baby's gurgle drew all eyes towards Cullen's back. Gavin must have roused from his nap, the child a natural at riding on horseback. Freed from the rhythmic pounding of hooves that lulled him to sleep, he seemed ready to face this bright new world.

Lana scurried over to him, tugging apart the hood to find amber eyes staring up. "You should stay sleeping," she whispered to her baby. Chubby hands lashed out, knotting into her wind mussed hair.

"You're certain the witch is inside?" Cullen took over asking questions while Lana fussed with their baby. She moved to yank Gavin out, when she turned and spotted Reiss. The poor woman appeared as if she'd been pulverized from the inside out, tears unable to drip down sealed off ducts, leaving her eyes red with rage and sorrow. Turning back to her boy, Lana lifted up a sleep spell. She didn't use it on him often, though Maker how she wished to, but this was not the time for him to be passed around to new hands and cooed at.

"Alistair?" Cullen continued.

Her old friend shook his head and pinched into his eyes. "If you have no faith in my skills, why not come out and just say it? There's no reason to go dancing around the subject, unless you've got a pretty skirt with bells on in that saddlebag."

Cullen growled softly, which Lana disarmed by rubbing his arm. He wasn't happy about being summoned across country, but he put up no fight in racing to rescue their child. "I was only curious if Morrigan was using one of her elven mirrors to try and escape us."

"Here," Alistair dropped an ink bottle pulsing red into Cullen's hand. "Feel for yourself."

Her husband took a moment, his eyes shutting tight while he gripped against the glass. "You're correct, she is inside."

"Does she know we're here?" Lana asked.

Both templars turned to tell her, "It doesn't work like that." Then glared at each other for speaking the same thought.

"We know where she is, why are we not heading inside to find her?" Reiss snarled, her arm rotating around with her extended sword. The blade sliced through the air with enough force it drew the attention of the guards.

"Plans are a good thing. I like plans, they keep your kidneys on the inside of your body," Ali was babbling. It was a wonder he'd kept Reiss pinned in place long enough for Lana and Cullen to arrive. She looked as if she intended to rip Morrigan's throat out with her teeth. A small part of Lana couldn't blame her, but...there had to be some reason for all of this. Morrigan wasn't nice, that's a given, but she wasn't unnecessarily cruel either. She moved with purpose, they simply didn't know what that purpose was.

"I'll go first," Lana spoke up. Cullen raced towards her, no doubt to tell her over his dead body. She raised a hand to stop him, "Morrigan trusts me, and I can dismantle any wards she's put in place. Which there are; the veil feels like cottage cheese here."

It was her husband she expected the argument from, but Alistair leapt into his place, "We all go in together. Two templars plus a mage stand a far better chance against a witch than a single mage alone. You," he turned to his men, "remain here. Guard the entrance and if you hear us screaming come running."

"Yes, Sire!" the first guard saluted, and the others followed a half second after.

Lana pursed her lips, not happy with the arrangement. She was certain if she could talk to Morrigan alone then she'd be able to convince her to hand over the child. To find a different path. Alistair, Cullen, and a vengeful mother all but made that an impossibility.

"Something wrong, Lanny?" Ali peered down at her, a coldness warping his words. He was trying to mask his pain, but Morrigan set off the bomb inside of him. She'd always chalked Alistair up as a man with no spine and limbs of jelly. Stealing his child she was about to realize how wrong she was.

"No," Lana shook her head, "no, you're right. We all go in together."

"What do we do with Gavin?" Cullen asked, jabbing a thumb towards his back.

Lana paused. The right thing to do, the wise thing would be to leave him behind with the guards. There was also a small chance she could head in there and never see her baby again. It was foolish, it was stupid, but she wasn't going to take that risk. "Put him on my back. I'll hang back out of any fights." She tapped her foot against her cane, "I don't have a lot of choice on that."

She watched Cullen cloud over, no doubt he'd made the same tactical judgment she did. Then the fatherly smothering took hold, the fear of their baby boy being left to the care of these unknown men outside of a witch's cave. At least in their arms they'd always know if their child was safe or not. Nodding his head, Cullen began the arduous task of undoing the little baby pack and switching it over to his wife.

"Maker's sake, how much weight has he put on?" she groaned, feeling like she was about to tip backwards at the six month old. Lana meant it to be light, but Cullen's honey eyes burned pure worry into her. After checking the straps, he risked a quick kiss on her lips.

Bending forward, he whispered barely a breath above the wind, "Stay safe. Both of you."

"If you're done," Reiss hissed. She barely waited for their leave before heading into the cave. Lana glanced up at the sky, the sun on its arc down to the horizon. Squaring off against Morrigan in a potential battle to the death...why did she suddenly fear this may be the last sunset she ever saw?

The cave stopped being that about fifteen feet in. A collapse of stalactites broke through into the deep roads below. That got a groan from the two grey wardens, both of them sharing a glare before Alistair and Reiss hopped down. Cullen assisted Lana, her cane hobbling against the ramp made of broken stone. Getting back up that thing was going to be an even bigger nightmare.

"This looks annoyingly familiar," Alistair said, his lips pursed in a whistle.

"You think we're near Cadash Thaig?" Lana asked, already well aware of his thoughts, "But that's further north. This is a section of the roads that diverged deeper towards...it doesn't matter." It looked much the same, grooves beside the walls properly lit up by lava light. The stone itself was a bit darker than the stuff up north, an aspect Lana caught on to to help navigate these things.

"All I care about is if there are any darkspawn around?" Reiss hissed.

Lana tipped her head to the side, the taint whispering no more than it usually did when she entered the deep. "No, nothing near here. Which makes me think that Morrigan is truly here." She shared a glance with Ali, both of them knowing that keeping the deep roads purged of darkspawn was no easy feat.

All Reiss heard was that her enemy was near. Squeezing her hand hard enough against the leather grip it squeaked, she growled out, "Good."

They didn't run into traps until midway down the roads, the blockage offering up only one proper route. Lana lashed her hand out to grab onto Reiss' arm and held her steady. "Ice wards," she hissed.

"I have this," Cullen stepped forward. He tipped his head down and a wave of dispelling erupted from his body. It caused a twinge of nausea to knot up Lana's stomach while the other two seemed unaffected. "One down," he said, no sense of bragging in his speech.

"Maker only knows how many more to go," Alistair added on.

Continuing onward the roads tipped at an angle, as if the very earth below them began to slide. Lana had to lash a hand out to the wall to keep upright, barely moving as the rest all gritted their teeth and hunched onward. Why would Morrigan head into the deep? What was she hiding from? She turned and caught the King of Ferelden flexing his fingers tighter and tighter to the sword at his belt. Aside from a vengeful father. Alistair's power never concerned her but something else must have. No sane person would flee into darkspawn territory if they had no choice.

Lana knew better than to voice her thoughts, her head tipped down as she kept her eyes focused on the divots and bumps in the road. She was reduced to shuffling her feet, knowing that a fall would hurt not only her but her baby. Sometimes Cullen would glance over, concern evident, but he wouldn't say anything. He was probably saving up all of his nagging worries for when everyone was safe.

The roads turned a corner to reveal a cramped hallway. "I'm not sensing any wards," Lana announced just before Reiss all but ran ahead. She wasn't in a waiting kind of mood apparently. Barely any light flickered here, the lava somehow dampened or rerouted. Beneath their boots, the ground cracked like stepping over broken pottery, too dark to see what they trod upon. Carefully, Lana lifted up a hint of flame against her fingers and they all gasped.

Dozens of dead skeletal bodies lay scattered upon the ground like cards blown off the table. Heaped in what looked like three piles, heads and limbs knotted around each other without thought for how they fell.

"Right, that's not ominous at all," Alistair moaned, shifting his head back and forth to try and chase away the rising willies they all felt. Eyeless sockets gazed up at the King from a skull he nearly put his boot through. "Why are there so many dead bodies here?" he whined, sliding further inward but now making certain to not step on any fingers.

"This witch's doing?" Cullen asked.

"They're not darkspawn," Alistair said. "And some of these are ancient. It's almost like she," he bent down, bringing his face closer to the insect-eaten leathers that clung to cobwebbed bones, "brought 'em here for decoration."

Reiss snarled, "Forget it. We have to keep..."

Perhaps she tripped a trigger Lana missed, or they'd crossed deep enough into the trap, but the entire pile of corpses took a breath. It wasn't air they pulled into the long dissolved lungs, but magic. The veil cracked apart as every shattered leg bone connected to pulverized hip bones until the skeleton army began to rise to its feet.

"You have got to be kidding me," Alistair groaned, drawing his sword. The four trained warriors squared off, each taking on their own set of skeletons. Alistair swung first, his blade cleaving a skull off shoulders, but it didn't do much to slow the skeleton down.

Cullen took the battering ram approach, smashing a shield into the ribcage until the arms, weapons, and skull splattered onto the floor. "Why is it always undead?"

"Sometimes it's tainted undead," Alistair threw in, beginning to mimic Cullen's style. The well practiced templar knew a thing or two about dealing with demons.

"You have to be joking," Cullen whipped his sword through a spine, severing it, then turned to Alistair.

He shrugged, "On that one I wish. I really, really do. Hey, Lanny..."

His call went unheeded as she ripped apart the veil with one hand and swung her cane at another skeleton. Fire lanced from the tip, lighting up desiccated cotton and flesh like a wick. For a moment the skeleton panicked, its skinless hands trying to pat out the fire, but then it turned towards her. The flaming undead marched closer, uncaring about its own body cracking and popping from the heat.

"Lana..." Cullen cried, attempting to turn back to rescue her. But he couldn't get close to the fire.

Smiling, she rolled her fingers and lanced enough ice to freeze a lake solid at the thing. The skeleton blew back at the force, then erupted into millions of bone shards as it splattered against the wall. "All right," Lana twisted her cane around like a baton, "who's next?"

She prepared another spell on her fingertips when a skeleton hand lanced out from behind. Dodging downward, Lana jabbed her cane back and let a thunderbolt explode from the end. It was enough to send the skeleton flailing backwards. The sounds of bones scrabbling against stone were suddenly met with a happy gurgle.

"Gavin?" she tried to spin around to check on her boy, but that only whipped him to face his father and 'uncle' in combat. "Sweetie, this, um..." Lana waved her hands and, drawing forth the pressure of a mountain, flattened the skeleton she barely electrocuted. "This isn't normal. Mommy doesn't usually fight undead. Well, not anymore."

Her baby gurgled again, practically laughing at all the funny corpses dancing at the end of blades. Great, this was certain to warp him. _You're terrified of the dark? Probably because when you were six months old I fought a legion of skeletons with you strapped to my back. Sweet dreams, kid._ Barely into this and she was already in the running for thedas' worst mother.

Twisting back around, Lana marched backwards towards the wall to hide Gavin from the skeletons and keep his potential trauma to a minimum. Reiss sliced a head off, then two pairs of arms, and finally leg. As the skeleton tumbled to the ground, she smashed her heel into the skull.

"I think that's the last of 'em," she panted, wiping sweat off her forehead and nodding at Alistair.

They both moved to continue onward, when Lana felt the veil knotting itself into a bow. If she concentrated she could see the fade itself like blue light lancing out of the hole deeper into the ground. _Oh shit!_

Dirt erupted from below them, hands and legs bursting from the grave Morrigan dug to hide the second wave. The four leapt towards the sides of the hallway as the ground exploded, holes left where they'd been standing. "Seriously?!" Reiss groaned, twisting her shoulder back into position in preparation of beginning again.

"I love you, Reiss, but this is why we never say 'That's the last of 'em,'" Alistair eyed her up from the other side of the room. Reiss stood beside Lana, deeper in, her eyes hunting the room in preparation of leaping into the fray. Both Cullen and Ali looked ready to charge as well.

"Everyone freeze," Lana ordered. She twisted the fade through her body, feeding more of herself and the power into the spell winding up her arm.

"Uh, Lanny," Ali tipped his head towards the skeletons staggering up to their feet, "undead and all. Kinda got to..." His eyes lit up as he realized what the blue orb building on her hand was. "Get down," he ordered, waving at Reiss.

The elf eyed him up but obeyed, taking a knee. Cullen followed suit too, but he kept his sword within striking distance. The skeletons all twisted like leaves on a bonfire, their limbs shedding dust the way Honor would fur come spring. She had to wait until they were all up. A few stragglers were still bent over, getting their femurs in place, but the others were advancing. Dementedly grinning skulls pivoted unnaturally upon the spines, the cracking of bone striking the air as they all moved towards the crouching humans.

"Lanny...if you're going to do it. I mean, now'd probably be good. Or, in a few seconds. I'd prefer before we're dead."

"This is idiotic," Reiss growled, she inched forward, about to rise to her legs.

"Get down!" Alistair called at her just as the last of skeletons staggered up.

Releasing the ball of pure cold, the air erupted into freezing ice blasts in nearly 360 degrees. Only the caster was spared, the chill nipping right above the heads of the others who upon feeling it freeze their hair solid dropped stomachs to the ground. The skeletons fared no better, every limb now iced tight to every socket. Their bodies were so brittle a single punch would shatter them.

Lana sucked in a breath and then glanced around at her people. Tipping her head towards them, she said, "Well, get to it."

Cullen rose first, his shield bashing into a frozen skeleton and sending ice chunks of bone and human jerky meat glistening into the air. Second behind him was Alistair, while Lanny turned her cane around and whacked the walking end into the closest skeleton. The ribs crunched in half, another whack breaking the spine until it tipped over and fell dead. They'd have this handled in no time.

Which was when she turned over and noticed a hole where the elf should be. "Where's Reiss?" she spoke up when she felt the veil being prodded apart. Not here, deeper inside the thaig. "Shit, Alistair, Reiss has gone to confront Morrigan alone!"

"Are you fucking...? Of course she did, she's..." he snarled, a good ten skeletons remaining to pulverize.

"Go, go save her. I have this," Lana scurried backwards towards the end of the hall and a cavern where Morrigan must be waiting. Alistair wiped human goo off his cheek and nodded at her before hoofing it after Reiss. "Cullen," she called to her husband, directing him to stand behind her.

He fell into place but kept his eyes upon the slowly thawing threats. "Lana, what are you...?"

Dipping deep into a rather esoteric but not forgotten magic, Lana enveloped the fade itself around the ground and then quickly smashed it and all the skeletons against the ceiling. Yanking the fade away, the dirt rained down while a few of the skulls and ribcages remained jammed onto stalactites.

Her husband squeezed a hand against her shoulder, his eyes wide in surprise at her power. She prayed it wasn't fear. Slowly sheathing his sword, he whispered, "I wonder why I worry about you sometimes."

"How's our baby?" she spun back to let Cullen have a quick check.

"Giggling like crazy, which I assume comes from you," he added before replacing the hood.

Nodding at Gavin being safe, Lana drove more healing through her legs, then followed after Reiss and Alistair. They had to turn down a narrow hallway, which emerged into what must have once been the dwarven equivalent of a mansion. Fires not of this world burned against the sides, casting everything in a haunting blue glow. It was well carved into the stone, a true marvel to behold no doubt, but her eyes were upon the woman in the middle of the room. Dressed in all black save a bit of burgundy around her chest, Morrigan held something tight in her arms while the other waved at Reiss.

The elf had dashed forward fast, her sword extended back to cut the witch down, but at the last second Morrigan must have paralyzed her body. That was the scene Alistair came upon, his eyes narrowing as he shouted, "You'll pay for everything you've done."

Whipping his sword into position, he too charged towards Morrigan. The witch sighed, tipping her head back, then blasted another attack at him. But Alistair must have been practicing harder on his skills as he deflected the spell and advanced quicker. _Maker, damn it!_ Lana hobbled faster towards them, pumping all the healing she could into her legs to let her run a bit faster. If she didn't catch up in time someone was going to die.

Alistair placed a hand to his chest and a wave of dispelling erupted from him, it was enough to knock Morrigan back a step and also free Reiss. The elf barely missed a beat as her body returned to her. Spinning up on her foot, she drew her blade back to strike when the witch yanked a dagger from her bracer and dangled it towards the bundle in her arms.

"One more step and the child dies," her voice echoed through the cavern.

Both parents all but collapsed, their attacks falling apart as they stared hard at a little peach head prodding out through the blankets. The baby was quiet, almost deathly so, but when the dispelling magic reached her she began to fuss. Myra's cries caused Reiss to stumble to a knee, her lips blubbering, "My baby." Snarling, she shot back up, nearly beside Morrigan. "I will gut you like a fish."

"Then I will kill the baby," she said, tipping her head.

"If you hurt one hair on her head, I swear to the Maker and anyone else listening, Morrigan that I will have you begging for death," Alistair didn't drop his sword, his weapon rising higher with his threat. Reiss followed suit, vengeance burning in her green eyes. Not to be outdone, Morrigan slipped her dagger closer to Myra.

"For the love of Andraste," Lana hobbled forward, "will you all calm down a moment!"

At her appearance, Morrigan's sneer faded and she glanced over almost in surprise at Lana. "You I did not expect."

"Nor did I expect for you to start kidnapping children. Is that not supposed to be your mother's purview?"

"Ha," Morrigan tossed her head back, the sneer of indignity back in place, "you know nothing of me, Warden. Not who I am, nor what I am capable of." She turned from her only possible friend in the room to glare over at Cullen entering the fray as well. "And I see you brought another templar to my doorstep. Wonderful. It's been a few years since I've had to fight any off."

At that he went rigid, Cullen's lion stare winnowing down on the witch. Lana gripped onto his arm, trying to keep his sword in the scabbard. The last thing they needed was to make this standoff worse. "Morrigan," she honed in on the witch, "why are you doing this?"

"Because she's evil, Lanny. You don't need another reason."

Morrigan rolled her eyes at Alistair, "As obtuse as always. 'Tis a wonder Ferelden didn't return to its state of barbarism under your tutelage."

"Says the witch that's ripping children from their cradles. Sounds like you fell right out of a fairy story, you know the one where the good knight rams his sword straight through the evil witch's cold, dead heart then heads home the hero." Alistair didn't back down at Morrigan's venom, didn't try to laugh it away or cower as he had all those years ago. She failed to account for the young adult she once knew hardening from life into a man.

"You speak better than I remember, influence from a dozen tutors to the spittle soaked King I imagine, but it changes nothing. I have your child, and if you make one move upon me, she will die." Morrigan's yellow eyes whipped around the group but kept landing right back upon Alistair. _Why?_ Reiss was more of a threat, the woman close enough she might get in before the witch had a chance to strike. What about this was so personal?

"Why his daughter?" Lana spoke up, trying to get this back on track. She was never a negotiator, darkspawn not known for waving a white flag, but she could tell when things were tipping south fast. Morrigan whipped her head to Lana; her eyes narrowed but the bite softening. The others turned to her as well, everyone hoping for someone to find an answer.

"There are hundreds of infants across Ferelden, thedas itself. Why did you take Alistair's?"

Morrigan snickered a moment, her head tipping down as she stared at the bundle in her arms she was threatening. "Astute as always, Amell. It was hard to get much past you." When she glanced up, Lana gasped at tears, honest to the Maker tears, trickling in the witch's eye. "It is...my son," Morrigan turned to the side and twisted her head to point towards what looked like an altar. A body lay across it, dark hair cushioned by a silk pillow while the chest barely stirred.

She expected to see a child, but, no, it was nearing twenty years since the blight. This boy had to be in his eighteenth year or so. Practically a man, nearly the same age Lana was when she saved the world. Morrigan whipped back fast, her eyes first darting over Reiss, who was trying to inch closer to save her baby, before landing upon Lana.

"He is dying and the only thing that can save him is the blood of the mother," she gestured the dagger at herself, "and the blood..." Morrigan turned her eyes upon Alistair and the edge of her lips ticked upward, "of the father." She glanced quickly at Reiss, clearly expecting something, but the elf only glared at her baby. Reiss had eyes for no one else. "No surprise? No shock? No belabored argument of how that witch could have a child same as your...bedwarmers?"

"Maker's sake, Morrigan," Lana groaned.

Reiss stared right into her eyes as if she was facing down a lion. "He already told me," she sneered, surprising Morrigan.

"Told her what?" it was Cullen who stuttered, lost at the information. "You...your boy was," he whipped over to Alistair who froze, terrified to do anything that could hurt Myra, "was his?"

"Ah yes, I remember you now. The mangey Commander set on his quest of redemption in the Inquisition. Amell, do not tell me this is what you chose? Out of every option in..."

Lana flicked a single ice pick against Morrigan's cheek, only strong enough to sting, but it shut her up. "This is not the time for such stupidity!" she screamed at Morrigan but in her head she was screaming at herself. She never told Cullen because it wasn't her secret to give and now...Maker's sake, this was a mess. "Give us the baby."

"Then my son dies," Morrigan hissed. "Or does that mean nothing to you? He was a means to your end, or rather your un-end, Warden. And you," she jerked her chin, her hawk gaze honing in on Alistair, "How little do you care for the fate of your first child? Does it mean nothing in comparison to the second?"

Alistair wrung his hands tighter against the sword, a growl rumbling up his throat while he stared dead set upon Myra. Her little hand broke from the blankets, trying to reach up to touch the deadly knife that was about to spill her blood. That threat seemed to shake Alistair and he snarled, "Take my blood, then. Spare her... Please."

The witch wobbled a moment at the heartbreaking please, before digging her fingers tighter to the dagger. "Your blood is tainted, useless. I would save my son only to doom him to the blight. No, it must come from an untainted source, a child carrying her father's same. Do you think this was my first choice? That I didn't try everything I could?"

"How convenient for you to need a child off of Alistair the moment she comes into being," Reiss spat, her fingers aching to snatch her baby free.

"Fate can be kind and also cruel," Morrigan sighed. The baby in her arms began to fuss, a few more cries beginning when she heard her mother. For a brief second Morrigan glanced down at the big green eyes filling with tears, before she sneered and stared out at all of them. "What shall it be, King? Or you...gutter rat? Does one child die tonight, or two?"

"You will not hurt her, Morrigan," Alistair swore.

"And you are hardly in a position to stop me."

"For the love of Andraste," Lana hissed. Stomping forward, she stepped in between the witch and the King. For a second Morrigan dipped the knife closer to Myra as if she feared Lana would snatch her away, but she extended her empty hands. "Do you really think you'll get away with this Morrigan? You kill that child and we will cut you down." She stared right into those eyes and sneered, "All of us."

"You may attempt it," she said, but the cockiness wavered at Lana's warning. She was trying to be reasonable, but if Morrigan crossed that line she'd strike back with everything inside of her. And Morrigan had to taste how much power Lana was trolling out of the fade; it was building so fast her fingers were sparking.

"And even if, big if, you stop us all, there are Ferelden guards right outside the cave. They will rush in, and they will stop you while you're busy attempting to save your son. They will kill you, or Kieran. Perhaps both. Murdering Myra is no answer," Lana began to reach out her empty hand, hoping Morrigan would see reason.

"Then what is? I doom my son to death without trying? Because you dared to grow attached to this mewling creature?" She was trying to scamper back her emotions, the mother lion only focusing on her own. "If you care so much about bringing another mouth into this world, make another. You seem to have stumbled into the mechanics eventually."

"Lanny," Alistair whispered from behind her, "step back."

"No, by the void, I will not let you two..."

"Step back, because I don't want to go through you to save my daughter. But I will if I have to." She caught sight of the twist of his sword from behind her, Alistair moving into a position. But he wasn't fast enough, he'd never dice up Morrigan before she'd kill their baby. And she'd do it. Perhaps she didn't want to, but she had clearly weighed the price of her son's life over this unknown infant's.

"By the void you will go through my wife," Cullen snarled, unsheathing his sword and stepping towards Alistair.

"I'll kill the witch myself," Reiss spoke over the both of them. "One cut, finish what I started on the thigh," she jabbed a finger towards a bandage wrapped against Morrigan's leg. "Maybe a gut wound, make it linger."

"Try it, flat ear," the witch hissed, "and you'll learn why your people failed."

Lana twisted her hands, the fade responding to her rising anger by zapping energy like tiny lightning storms off her fingers. Tipping her head back, she screamed, "I will help you!"

Every threat stopped, every head turning to her as they were uncertain who she was offering assistance to. "Morrigan, I will help you save Kieran. I've always been the better healer, and I've learned matters of medicine beyond what the tower ever taught. If... I will help you revive your son if you return Myra to her parents. Now."

The witch drew her shoulders back, her posture switching to one of ease, "And why would you do that? Why would you agree to stay and help me?"

"Because I have a son of my own," Lana stuck out her chin and watched Morrigan's jaw drop. Spinning to the side, Lana revealed Gavin's little head to the witch. "If we have a deal, then hand over the baby and no one has to die here."

She paused, no doubt weighing over the obstacles in her path. Morrigan set up traps meant to catch a vengeful mother and father, she failed to calculate that Alistair would get his garrison involved or call upon the Hero of Ferelden. In combat, she might best Reiss, but two templars could easily disarm her before she'd do anymore damage. The only prevailing question was if baby Myra would survive any of it. The only reason Lana was willing to cut this option for them all.

"Very well," Morrigan said and drew back the dagger. Reiss dashed forward and yanked Myra out of her arms before the witch even had time to blink. Both parents huddled around their baby, tears falling anew as they gazed upon her turning to all smiles at her mother's face.

"You're safe," Reiss whispered, snuggling her baby tight against her cheek, "Mummy's here, Daddy's here too. We won't let anything bad happen to you..." Her weepy voice faded and one of steel slotted into place, "ever again." Even with her daughter in her arms, Reiss marched towards Morrigan with her sword out.

Lana tried to wave for Alistair to stop her, but it was Morrigan who did. She didn't flinch at the attack, didn't even raise her hands. Folding them across her chest, Morrigan said, "Oh, I should have mentioned, I put a curse on your child. If I do not reset it once every twenty four hours, then she will die."

Reiss skidded to a halt, her eyes darting down to the baby who didn't look at all like she carried a death sentence over her head, "You..."

"Bitch!" Lana whipped her head over at her, "You'd put a death hex upon an infant?!"

"It's far more complicated than that, Amell. Do not think you, nor your templars can easily dispel it. So," Morrigan slapped her hands together, "you're all free to leave whenever you want. You're correct, it's doubtful I could stop you all on my own. But if you want that child to live, I wouldn't venture too far. I will not release her from the curse until mine awakens and is safe."

Cuddling her baby tighter to her cheek, Reiss tried to soothe down the back and mussed up hair of the child unaware of the ticking clock over her head. Alistair wrapped himself around the pair of them, but he glared at the witch that effectively trapped the six of them in the deep roads for Maker knew how long.

Cullen approached Lana, a hand skirting under her elbow to try and take her weight. She shook off the fade arcing under her fingers and all but collapsed into his arms. "What do we do?" he asked, his eyes widening.

"Set up camp," Lana said, staring around at what was to become their new home, "while I get to work."


	29. Now What?

For an hour, Reiss refused to let Myra leave her arms. Even as the baby swung her head around trying to spot these new strangers, even as she slapped into her mother's hands impatiently wishing to be set free -- Reiss clung to her child while whispering prayers of gratitude to anyone listening.

Myra was alive.

The next step was making her safe.

Alistair clung close, constantly fussing with his daughter's hair as if he had to get it just right. Every time he'd lift her wheat hair skyward, Myra would swipe an arm across it ruining his work. It became a game, the daughter destroying what her father created. He didn't groan, didn't grimace, just got back to it a small smile on his face.

She was alive.

She wasn't hurt and wasn't really hungry. Reiss tried a bit, and while Myra took in a few samples she didn't gorge herself the way her mother feared. For the past two nights, Reiss lived in fear of her baby starving because there was no one to fill her belly. The witch must have done something to her...

"I know that look," Alistair whispered beside her ear.

Reiss jerked her chin towards the witch. She'd shuffled the Hero deeper into her stolen abode, Lana left beside a giant stack of books while Morrigan took a knee beside the body of her son. At this distance it was hard to tell if he was really alive. It would be so easy for someone to smother the nose and mouth, finish off this stalemate quickly and let everyone return to their lives.

"She'll pay," Reiss said. Myra shuffled in her hands, wanting down badly but her mean mother wasn't ready to let go.

"Yeah..." Alistair's eyes trailed from the witch down to the boy. But that wasn't a boy, he was practically a man now. A man who would make his own decisions, live his own life away from whatever created him. The sins of the mother... Reiss wanted to be cold enough to finish this off herself, but technically that boy was her child's only true brother.

"My squirmy worm," Alistair rubbed into Myra's back, her big green eyes fixing on his nose before she smiled wide. "Maker, I feared I'd never see that again," he began to weep even while returning the grin with his Wheaty. Cupping his hands to her chubby cheeks, Alistair bonked his forehead into hers and said, "Never run away with scary witches ever again. You promise me?"

Myra giggled at her daddy being silly and then paddled her hands out to smack into his nose. "I'm going to hold you to that promise," he said. The tears stopped, but Alistair didn't reach up to dry away the evidence.

"Here," Reiss slipped Myra into his arms, "I think it's your turn now."

Quick to snuggle her to his chest, Alistair buried his face into the top of Myra's fine hair, no doubt more tears falling as he felt the full weight of her. It seemed a cruel trick of the mind to have their baby back until Reiss was holding her, having to adjust for the grabby hands wanting to explore everything. "I love you, you know. Mummy and Daddy were," he glanced up a moment at Reiss and grabbed onto her freed hand. "We were scared without you. And now I don't know if I'm going to tell her this story every single day until she's sick of it, or never mention it again."

Reiss slid closer to him, laying her head upon his shoulder while hugging both. She wished it could be a fun story about the time their little girl went for a trip across the country, but it wasn't over yet. There was a curse hanging over Myra's head, and as much sway as Lana seemed to have over the witch, she doubted the witch was very patient.

"You are doing everything you can to slide out of my arms, kid," Alistair groaned, succumbing to the same wiggling that nearly tipped Reiss over. When Myra had a mind to something, she'd do it, and right now she wanted to explore this old dwarven ruin. "Tell ya what, how about I hold you, and then we all walk together? Will that work?"

Myra babbled, her favorite syllable being ay, which they always interpreted as a yes. Do you want a bath? _Ay ay ay._ Do you want to eat these mashed up peas? _Ay ay ay._ Do you want to have your parents smother you in love and attention because they feared they'd never see you again? Reiss gripped tighter to the both of them, the terror never really leaving her body. No doubt feeling it too, Alistair tried to return the hug even as their little Ay-ay kept wiggling in his arms.

"Okay, I'm walking. Now over here we have what I assume is the foyer or greeting room. This is where dwarves would stand around declaring who among them had the best beard. They'd all fight in the arena for beard honors and the losers would have to shave. Very dishonorable," Alistair babbled like a tour guide while vibrant green eyes stared around in awe. Reiss had to agree with her baby, it was impressive. Easily three, perhaps four stories high, the room stretched beyond what any family would require. Pillars propped up the tall ceiling, each one oddly shaped like people if they were made out of poorly hewn rock.

Turning to the right, Alistair led his baby into a new room with octagonal shaped doorways. It must have been important to whoever lived here because eight sided everything was in fashion. Octagon windows, doors, tables, even what may have been a bed frame. "This was probably someone's bedroom. No doubt for a dwarf that was a little obsessed with the number eight or geometry. What's geometry?" Alistair asked as Myra began to flap her arms. "Well, as I understand it, it's when a bunch of grey haired alchemists get together and in order to show who's the smartest proceed to prove that a circle is in fact round. You'd think they could just ask any kid on the street what circles are shaped like, but that'd ruin the fun, I guess. Also, never ask them to help you cheat at billiards. They get kinda icy then."

"What's through door number two?" Alistair continued onward deeper into the exploring. They emerged into another room with far too much space. Perhaps it had once been an armory, or held some ancient dwarven technology that'd long been picked clean. It would be completely forgettable save the one man struggling to lay out a blanket on the recessed floor.

After making certain the ground was properly cushioned, the Commander undid some secret strap to slide his baby carrying device around. His son began to wave his arms in excitement while the father did his best to free the boy without being slapped on accident. Reiss smiled a bit at the care he showed his boy, when she caught Myra staring at the scene. Her eyes were so wide they nearly filled her face, all movement frozen while she trailed this new person that was her size.

"Pst," Reiss whispered, jabbing an elbow at Alistair.

"Hm..." he glanced down at his daughter enraptured with the baby laying on his stomach on the blanket. "Oh, no. No, I'm telling you right now, I forbid you from falling in love with the Rutherford boy. I don't care if he came to your balcony at night to sing his devotion and a priest offered to make you both appear dead. It's not happening."

Reiss folded her arms, "I think she just wants to play. She's never really been around another baby before."

"Is that all?" Alistair moved to wipe his brow off, sliding sarcasm drops free, "Whew. Okay, kid..." He was careful to step sideways down the five steps into this recessed area of the floor. It too was octagonal shaped, about twenty feet wide and the perfect place to pin in a couple of babies. No wonder the Commander searched it out.

Cullen sat down beside his son who was patting at the ground in concentration. When he heard footsteps, he glanced up at them and surprisingly didn't wince. "Have a seat," he sighed. "Gavin's been trying to beat the floor into submission. Aren't you?"

The boy lifted his head high, trying to twist it around to find his father, but his amber eyes landed upon the baby in Alistair's hands. He froze, watching in pure curiosity as Myra landed butt first onto the blanket. Both babies stared at each other from at most four feet away, their eyes widening as they seemed to be taking in the idea of someone so much like themselves.

"I feel like there should be tumbleweeds rolling by while they dare each other to draw first," Alistair mumbled.

Perhaps it was her father's voice, or she finally snapped out of her shy spell, but Myra smiled wide and began to clap her hands in excitement. That set off Gavin, a laugh breaking as he raised up onto his hands and knees and crawled right towards their baby. Myra was enthralled with this movement and she began to bounce up and down on her butt.

"Is she crawling yet?" Cullen asked. He leaned onto his side, keeping a close watch on his son but seeming to be more at ease than he'd ever been before.

"Nope," Alistair said, "what you see is what you get. Wheaty bounces up and down like she's on a horse to get where she wants to go."

Gavin paused right before ramming his head into Myra and then pulled back to sit on his butt. Both babies resumed staring at each other, their hands almost reaching across the void to touch. Every near miss made them giggle more, as if it was all hilarious. The boy seemed set in his spot, but Myra resumed her bouncing. It wasn't always in a straight line, sometimes she'd list to the side or veer off from her intended target, but this time she hopped right towards Gavin.

"I thought here might be a good spot for him to stretch out on his stomach," Cullen said, seeming to need something to say that had nothing to do with a witch, curses, or however they'd get out of this mess.

"Myra despises tummy time," Reiss spoke up.

"Really?" the first time father was shocked that babies could be so different.

"Instant tears, gnashing of toothless jaws, the works," Alistair chuckled. His little girl had managed to swipe far enough forward her hand was patting into Gavin's chunky thigh. The slap was soft but apparently funny as she'd touch him, then he'd touch the same spot. "I think she prefers watching the world go by. And all the people."

"Not a lot of that down here," Reiss muttered, her hands bunching up into fists. When fingers bounced against hers, she looked over into Alistair's worried eyes. He probably feared she was going to do something ill thought out because of her rage. It was hard for her to not see red when looking at the witch, but Reiss had no intentions of risking her daughter's life for her vengeance.

The other father fell silent at her comment, Cullen staring hard at his son who rolled onto his back. Myra kept dipping her fingers into his mouth, which he noshed on, much to her amusement. Her string of 'ay's' returned, seeming to tell this other baby all of her wild adventures for the past two days. At that Gavin spoke up, his syllable of choice seeming to be 'da.'

Da's and Ay's overlapped each other, the pair staring in rapture at this other baby. Alistair chuckled, "Already saying dada. Impressive. Lana's influence, no doubt."

"He usually uses it to mean everything from food, to sleep, to doggie, but there does seem to be an intonation that means me," Cullen explained. Reiss didn't know the Commander well, a fact of soldier life in the Inquisition and one that Alistair helped reinforce outside of it. While she wasn't one to take a guess about the man's typical state, he seemed softened by his son. The voice was smoother and his eyes didn't have a fire she remembered at the battle in the arbor wilds.

Gavin continued to babble, when he blinked his amber eyes, then lifted his head. Sure enough a slightly different, "dada" that sounded more coherent than the others, caused Cullen to inch closer. "I'm here. You're okay," he whispered, his fingers reaching down to lightly tickle Gavin's stomach. The same dada launched from those thick baby lips and he grabbed onto Cullen's hand.

That grizzled, brash Commander who'd scare recruits straight if he accidentally gazed upon them melted into a puddle of bliss at the small contact of his son. He tipped his head down close to his boy who was too busy trying to yank a ring off to notice. "What occurred with your daughter..." Cullen whispered, glancing up at both Reiss and Alistair.

Instinctively, Alistair darted a hand around her back, holding tight. That caused Myra to turn over to stare at her father and then release some more Ays about whatever she was working on; perhaps trying to understand her wily foot. "Sorry about, you know, dragging you from your home, trapping you here until Lanny pulls off a miracle, giving us these wonderful accommodations..." Alistair waved a hand around the dwarven ruins that stank of fetid air and blood. There was a lot of blood, Reiss realized.

"No," Cullen interrupted, "it...if there comes a time when you plan to turn on the witch," he looked up into Alistair's eyes, "you have my blade."

Alistair blinked in surprise, then turned over to Reiss, "You...you'd go against your wife? Her and Morrigan are always a little--"

"If it came to it, though I suspect given time she'd see reason."

"Th..." he swallowed and reached out to the Commander with his hand. "Thank you," Alistair said gripping to his hand and shaking it. The idea of going against the woman he loved for the greater good seemed to have drained Cullen, his eyes hanging down as he watched his son. Alistair returned to holding Myra up and Reiss added her hand behind his. For a brief moment he shared a look with her, both of them so exhausted from the race, the fear, the empty victory. Perhaps they could find a bed somewhere in these ruins to curl up together in.

"What is this boy to you?" Cullen's voice broke through the hazy plan.

Alistair sat upright at it and began to tug upon his hair. "It...um, so I'm guessing Lanny didn't explain all of that mess."

The Commander's promise of help felt like a dream from the cold wrath radiating in his eyes. "No, she did not."

"Maybe it would be best to ask her."

He stared at Alistair then swung his eyes over to Reiss, "You know. He told you, thought you were worthy enough of the information."

"That's kinda of...well," Reiss tried to dance back from the accusations. Sometime while he was recovering from his gut wound, Alistair got it in his head to confess everything to her. Everything. He covered the King stuff, the few mistresses he'd sometimes run into in his day to day life, then leapt back into the Grey Warden days. Most of it was well known, battles that people still spoke of nearly two decades later. But when he told Reiss of the deal struck between his first love and a witch, she could scarcely believe it was real.

"It's," Alistair rocked his head back and forth on his neck before sighing, "complicated. Really, really complicated..." His tone dropped off and he turned to gaze back through the doorway where they left the witch, the hero, and the son. Was he feeling sorrow for this child that was made out of necessity? Oh Maker, no. Please, no. That would only mess up everything they were scrabbling for if Alistair turned to the witch's side.

"Look," Alistair honed in on Cullen, "that kid...man. Maker, I'm old. To have an eighteen year old... If it weren't for him existing, Lanny wouldn't be alive. That's all I'll say about it because we're still under watchful eyes."

The Commander did not look pleased with that, but he gritted his teeth and nodded. Sliding back, he watched his son try to stuff his fingers into his boots. Myra began to babble again, her head tipping as she turned on her seat and reached both hands to Alistair.

He chuckled at her, "What's that? You want to go for a little walk? Okay." Staggering up to his feet, he picked up both of Myra's hands and extended her upward until she too stood upon her teetering toes. Their baby giggled, a foot nudging forward to try and propel her onward, while Alistair guided her.

That drew the Commander's attention, "Your baby is already walking?"

"Walking with serious help," Reiss smiled.

"This is more staggering around like a drunk while your friends have you propped up under your armpits, but Wheaty loves it." To elucidate this fact, she began to giggle more, moving her father further along the blanket and towards the forbidden zone. Of course, Alistair let her take charge.

"Try it with Gavin," Reiss encouraged to the uncertain man.

"I've never, I admit I don't have much experience with children..." Cullen wafted back and forth.

Alistair twisted around, his back hunched while hoisting up a baby, "Ha, you think that stops me? Prod this, tickle that, naughty corner in over time, total tantrum in the middle of court. Parenting is a guaranteed failure, you can only control how hard the landing is."

The Commander seemed less than convinced, but he began to stagger to his feet. "What do I do?"

"Pick up your baby by the middle and..." Reiss began, when Alistair returned with Myra.

"Here, you take her. She's a pro at driving me around," he heaved Myra's hands into Cullen's the pair of them blinking in surprise at this new person before, sure enough, baby feet went stomping away.

With a care, Alistair hoisted Gavin up until he stood on his little legs. The King had a tight grip to the kid's chubby tummy, letting him get used to the idea of being fully vertical. "Sometimes it takes awhile for them to get the hang of keeping their feet on the ground. That one seems to only love being upright. I swear she sleeps sitting up," he laughed jerking his head to Myra.

Unaware of being any different, their baby had walked Cullen all the way to the edge of the blanket, her mouth babbling to him about all the sights they were seeing. "Seems she's already made a friend," Reiss encouraged. That was Myra, even people who swore they hated babies with a fiery passion would come under her sway. She wasn't much of a cryer unless people were yelling, and was so full of laughter Reiss often caught her sleeping with a smile on her face. Her baby, that could have been lost.

"Forgive the intrusion," Lady Amell stood at the doorway, her hands wrapped around the cane as she watched. "Oh my stars, is Gavin standing?" At that she limped quickly towards them, taking it easier on the stairs down even while her eyes were focused on the baby. He lit up bright at the appearance of his mother, wiggling up and down on those extended legs as if doing a dance for her.

"We're having a go at baby racing," Alistair chuckled, then he jerked his head towards Cullen who was trying to steer Myra back towards them.

Lana smiled at the picture, then remarked, "She's adorable. And so much like her father. Look at that smile."

"Don't I know it," Reiss sighed. "And your boy..."

"Spitting image of his father, I know. Believe me, I hear that near on every day," she inched herself lower to sit upon the stairs, placing the cane that blew apart skeletons over her lap. For a moment she stared in rapture at her husband guiding Myra around, then back to her own boy waving a foot back and forth uncertain what to do with it. "I am sorry that this is how we had to meet."

At that the facade cracked. They'd been trying to pretend everything was fine, this was a momentary setback while the two kids played together. But there was no knowing what was going to happen, nor when. For all Reiss knew she may wind up spending her entire life inside this cave all at the whim of a witch. It had the makings of a terrible fairy tale.

"Is there really a curse upon Myra?" Reiss asked, her voice drained of all emotion. If she stopped to think about it for even a moment she grew more and more likely to run into the grand hall and slit the witch's throat.

Lana tipped her head down and sighed, "Yes. I...already checked to see if Morrigan was telling the truth."

"Can you get rid of it?" Reiss asked, before turning to the two men, "Can either of you dispel it? That's what you do? Did do, right?"

There was a momentary look shared between Cullen and Alistair before they glanced down at the baby. Myra was happy to have the attention unaware of the ticking clock inside her. No one should have to face that, death at the whims of a mage just because she shared the same blood as her father. "Well?" Reiss shot up, anger snorting in her nose.

"Reiss..." Alistair reached over to try and comfort her when Lana spoke up.

"They cannot remove it, but I could..."

"Then why don't you?" she stomped towards the woman who seemed to use her magic at random times to suit her.

Lana glanced over at her husband who'd stopped marching the baby around. "Because," she shuddered in a breath, "it would require blood magic."

"No," Cullen thundered, absently yanking Myra off the ground to step closer. At that she cried, not happy about her feet leaving the field. He grimaced at the move and put her back down, but kept staring at his wife, "that is not an option. You will not..."

"Honey eyes," Lana breathed, "I have no intentions to make a deal with a demon."

So that was it. Save her daughter and she'd lose herself to possession or a demon's attentions. At this point, their only hope rested in her healing someone who seemed near death. "Tell me the truth, then," Reiss folded her fingers tight into a ball, bracing for what she feared was coming, "can you heal this boy?"

"I..." she bit into her bottom lip almost hard enough it cracked, "I don't know. This is unlike any illness I've ever seen. It's as if his body is fine, healthy, but the mind has vanished. I need books, it's why I came to find you. Alistair, I assume you can send your guards to retrieve a few things for me?"

"Ah, I completely forgot about those guys. I should probably go and tell them to not charge at the witch unless they want to be part of the stew for tonight," he glanced around, prepared to do as asked, but Gavin seemed to be happiest up on his newly discovered feet.

Reiss walked over to scoop her daughter up into her arms, leaving Cullen to hold his own baby. That caused Gavin to tip his head back and stare amber eyes up at his father. He seemed enthralled with the man, about as much as Myra was with her father. There were plenty of long nights when Reiss would find Alistair passed out on the floor and Myra attempting to put things in his snoring mouth. And that comatose boy in there never knew his, may not even have been told who his father really was.

Why did this have to be so complicated?

With the baby well in hand, Cullen began to walk Gavin towards his mother. Lana inched further to the ground, clapping her hands to encourage her son closer. They were all smiles, but they were trapped here same as Reiss and Alistair. If she hadn't offered herself to the witch, then...

Reiss snuggled Myra closer to herself, the baby's warmth and her hands tugging on her mother's hair reminding her she was alive. They had a fighting chance, and that was all Reiss ever needed. "I'm going to go try and find somewhere to take a nap," she said to the happy couple.

"If I have any news I'll find you," Lana promised. She scooted forward enough she'd wrapped one hand around Cullen's cheek and the other to Gavin. The baby found his mother's palm hilarious, turning his mouth into it and blowing a giant bubble. "Thank you, sweetheart," Lana laughed, "I could use a good cleansing right about now."

Snuggling her baby close, Reiss tugged her away from the fun people. Myra gave up a bit of a fuss, she hated missing out on the party, but exhaustion was setting in quick. A few more cranky cries erupted before the baby grew a good ten pounds in her arms thanks to sleep. Tuckered out, but very much alive, Myra twisted closer to Reiss' chest. She passed into the grand room and spotted the witch no longer in prayer beside her son but standing near a shelf full of bottles.

Her cruel eyes darted away from whatever poison she was concocting to stare daggers at Reiss. Stole her baby from her arms, threatened to bleed Myra dry to save her own child, and she couldn't even bother to say a 'sorry.' She should leave it alone, not even go near the witch, not with Myra around.

Turning on her heel, Reiss marched over to Morrigan. That caught the witch's attention and she staggered away from the bottles. Reiss wasn't trained in much magic, but she could taste the lightning bite of it rising in the air. No doubt the witch was preparing herself.

"You are to never touch my daughter, ever again," Reiss threatened.

"Making demands so soon? I suppose I should not be surprised. That's what's in the blood of most city guards," Morrigan wiped at the feathers on her shoulder, the same way she did when she stole Myra away. "Brawn before brains."

A red haze erupted behind Reiss' eyes. Leaning closer to the witch, she snarled, "Make no mistake. Before this is done, I will kill you."

The witch laughed, her head thrown back in cold amusement, "So many people have already tried."

A dagger split the wood of the shelf right beside Morrigan's head. She held still, doing her best to look unimpressed at the vibrating hilt while Reiss sneered, "I'll be the last."


	30. Weakness

Alistair accepted the bundle under his arms, the pile of clean everything much appreciated. "Do I want to know where you managed to get a bunch of baby clothes and nappies out in the woods?" he asked, glancing over at the two guards who remained to try and do their King's bidding.

The first looked over at the second and scrunched his nose up, "Not really, Sire."

"That's what I figured. Well, if you stole them from a nasty witch perhaps she'll come here and fight our nasty witch thereby solving the problem." For two days they'd sat waiting inside the cave, Alistair on occasion stepping out to check in with his guys and send missives. It was his only time away from Reiss as he feared if he was gone too long she might haul off and gut Morrigan on her own.

"Your Majesty," the other guard stepped forward. They'd at least gotten smart enough to shrug off their heavy armor, the day far too hot for it. "How long do you think we shall need to linger here?"

He glanced up at the sky, gritting his teeth for when the ravens would return. No one back at home was going to be happy with his decision and...he hated having to disappoint two of them. "No idea, I'm afraid. Do what you usually do. Guard those trees and make sure that fennec over there isn't gonna sneak in and try to assassinate me."

Both guards glared at the white fox, its long ears twitching from the attention, before the animal scattered back into the forest. Tipping his head to them, Alistair returned into the deep. He found the templar prodding at a deer carcass Cullen killed, skinned, dressed, then began to cook. A small trail of blood lingered down the deep roads where he dragged the dead thing -- its bones and skin tossed to the side to be dealt with later.

"Good news," Alistair cried, "we have clean diapers!"

"Thank the Maker," Reiss staggered up, her arms crowded with two babies who were in the middle of a rousing game of slap hands. "How many did you get? Please tell me..."

"Two," Alistair admitted, "and what looks like a shirt that'll fit a toddler, a newborn sized dress and three socks. They did what they could, not a lot of babies hide caches in the woods for some reason."

Reiss sneered at the puny offering, but handed over the Rutherford baby to him. "Well," Alistair shuffled his hands away from a diaper practically dragging to the ground, "someone's a celebrated pooper." Those dissecting eyes stared up at the strange man who'd been tending to him on occasion. In general, Alistair and Reiss kept to Myra while Cullen took on Gavin, but with Lana so busy doing her best to free them all the work got passed around a bit.

Laying Gavin down on what could have been some holy dwarven altar, or a bench outside their brothel -- it was hard to say -- he began the horrifying task of cleaning up a baby long past his changing time. "Oh Maker's blighted hell," Alistair groaned, leaning back to get an attempt at fresh air. Even the sent of tainted death was better than what resided inside that cloth. "What are they feeding you, kid?"

"Same thing as Myra," Reiss gasped, quicker on the change than he was. "Yes, of course you find that absolutely hilarious. Our daughter thinks poop is funny. You know that's all your doing."

Alistair shrugged, "Probably." Smiling at his little girl, he returned to the task at hand, quickly changing one filthy load for a slightly cleaner one. Both soiled drawers wound up on the ground, the parents staring at it in horror. "Wanna duel to determine who has to clean it up?"

"I'll get it," Cullen spoke up from his makeshift spit. "When this is finished." He'd been doing his best at playing the model parent, cleaning up without being asked, staying up for hours with a crying baby all while his wife was head bent down over her work.

It would be enough to make Alistair jealous if he wasn't neck deep in a thousand other more pertinent emotions, a good half of them that involved murdering Morrigan. Whenever Lanny found her cure and the...boy woke, it was going to be an interesting stand off. After this, knowing the threat she could pose still to his Wheaty, it seemed unlikely Alistair would ever let her go. He couldn't. It just... Shit, who was he kidding? Even if he did, Reiss wouldn't. After the things she'd survived over the years, devoting her life to destroying the witch that stole her daughter was a minor stop.

Gavin shifted from cautious cooing to tears. It was slow at first, Alistair trying to pick him up higher to get his attention. But even the dancing light of fire couldn't distract as the baby tossed his head back to wail. "Oh, shh..." Alistair tried to dance with him, insisting it wasn't that bad. Sure they were trapped in the evil lair of a cruel and greedy witch but...at least they weren't all being fattened up to be eaten. Bright side and all.

Unfortunately, much like a dog's howl, one baby crying set off the other. Wheaty's eyes ran over with giant tears, her lips trembling as she tried to match Gavin's screams with her own. She could be powerful when she wanted something, but this was different. More like she was upset he was upset and didn't get why. "Myra, shush," Reiss turned her away from Alistair and Gavin still in full on roar. "You're okay."

The crying drew the attention of the witch who hadn't spoken to anyone save Lanny for the past two days. Morrigan eyed up the baby she'd nearly murdered and she gritted her teeth. Reiss snarled back, tucking Myra closer, "Mama will make sure you're okay."

"Here," Cullen rose up from their dinner. He didn't even bother to wipe the sweat, ash, or deer blood off as he reached for his wailing boy. Happy to pass him off, Alistair watched as the always cautious man tucked Gavin up to his eyes. The tears halted a moment at the father staring at him, but it wasn't what he really wanted.

"I've got to give it to that one, he's got himself a pair of lungs," Alistair moaned, attempting to drown out the noise by covering his ears. It didn't really help.

The templar glared, then tucked the baby onto his lap as they both plopped onto the floor. "What's the matter? You can't be hungry. Is it too much smoke?" He kept throwing out ideas, his voice cracking the longer the list grew while his son wouldn't stop screeching."Is it your mother? Do you...do you miss her?" Cullen's voice whispered.

It was almost heartbreaking to watch, the man trying to reason with an upset baby. Alistair turned away, feeling the sting of knowing this was all somehow his fault. He caught Reiss' eye and she too looked perturbed, both uncertain what to do to help. No one else was a mage with Lana's skills, no one else had access to magics and knowledge beyond the veil, and no one else cared enough to assist Morrigan. But no one else could be Gavin's mother either.

Stepping closer, Reiss passed Myra into Alistair's hands. She bent down on her knees to get right into the wailing baby's face. Gavin wouldn't stop for anything, right until she put her finger in his mouth and seemed to be feeling around. "Ah," she crowed, "as I suspected. He's cutting a tooth."

"Blessed Andraste, now?" Cullen groaned.

"Anyone got a clean piece of cloth?" Reiss asked. While the men stared around she fished a glob of deer fat fresh off the roasted leg. Wadding that up in the cloth, she tied a knot and then waved it around to cool off. After a few moments, Reiss pushed the tied off fat into Gavin's mouth.

He chewed down, the tears rolling, but as those fresh teeth scissoring through tender gum bit into tasty fat, the crying slowed. It took a few more chews before Gavin smiled, fat dripping down his chin along with the drool.

"There we go," Reiss smiled, staggering back up to her feet.

Cullen tried to wipe his son clean, who was gnawing away on the wad of fat with one hand clinging to the knot to keep it in place. "Thank you," he said, the weariness evident in his voice.

"It's...you're welcome. We used to make 'em all the time for babies growing up. No one had any fancy teethers, so you give them a bit of dinner to chew on."

Bouncing his satiated baby on his leg, Cullen returned to checking on dinner. But every once in awhile he'd turn back to place a kiss to his son's forehead and check to make certain he could chew on the knot without choking on it. Reiss stepped back to her baby and ran her fingers up in Myra's gums. The baby was none too happy about this invasion, her green eyes narrowing in her same mother's wrath.

"Nothing yet," Reiss smiled.

"She goes at her own speed," Alistair chuckled, Wheaty seeming to plan on skipping crawling all together. Whenever they tried to tip her over onto her stomach, she'd either roll onto her back, or cry until someone fixed it.

"Most babies do," she sighed, the exhaustion returning. No one was sleeping. No one had slept since Myra vanished from their arms. And now with the threat looming in the background ready to strike at any moment, Alistair and Reiss took shifts trying to protect their baby. Somehow he doubted the templar was coming off any better.

"I sent off missives to the palace to inform them of where I am," he put it off for a day, hoping that Lanny would take one look at the kid and heal him instantly. That quick fix was growing more unlikely with every passing hour.

"And one to Lunet as well?" Reiss asked. She reached over to scoop Myra out of his arms. At most, she seemed willing to take the time to change her clothes or visit the privy before needing to hold her baby again.

"Yup," Alistair nodded, then he ran his fingers over the back of hers. "Reiss..." She stared at him, confusion evident at the serious turn in his stance, "we have no idea how long this will take. And I know you were worried about your agency. If you need to return for..."

Her eyes drifted down to their baby, happy now that no one else was crying, and she spat out, "I am not leaving this cave until I know Myra is safe...and that witch is dead."

"But what if...?"

"Please, don't play the what if game now. Not, I made my decision. Myra's far more important than...that can be rebuilt should it need to be, she can't," Reiss brushed her cheek against Myra's soft forehead, shifting all that blonde hair upward. It was crazy to think his baby girl might require a haircut soon, the locks seemed to grow at an accelerated rate.

Alistair wrapped his hands around both her and their baby, nuzzling his face into Reiss' bun. He was prepared to go it alone should the need arise. The agency was important to her, after all. It was her life, but this...Myra and even him were something else. She chose their family. "I swear to the Maker, we will walk out of here together," he whispered to her.

"We damn well better," she said back, lifting her face and for a brief moment kissing his lips. "What's the matter?" Reiss broke from him to find Myra fussing. "Do you need a kiss too?"

"I've got it," Alistair laughed, bending further over to blanket her in all the affection he could give. And while he was here with his baby, there were two other kids who were heading to bed without him. Maker's sake, if this took more than a week, what was he going to do?

 

* * *

 

Lana didn't rise up from her work until the book nearly landed upon her hand. She twisted to the side, her fingers instinctively trying to thread the veil apart when Lana realized it wasn't an attack. Shaking off the magic like her hand fell asleep, she turned at a soft chuckle from Morrigan.

"Too enraptured in your reading to pay attention. Seems familiar."

"Humph," Lana snorted once, not ready to get into a long conversation with the witch.

In true Morrigan fashion, she took no offense to the barb and returned to Kieran's side. The boy was barely breathing, save the little required to keep him alive. She was dribbling a mix of honey and water into his mouth on regular intervals, which then required her to clean him up. Lana did her best to not watch because it struck her at how tender Morrigan was. In all her time knowing the witch she couldn't imagine this woman gently caring for someone who was invalid or comatose. Morrigan even took the time to be sentimental and placed a few of what must be Keiran's favorite things around as if that might rouse him.

She wanted to keep angry at her, knowing what she did, and while Lana felt the same fury as the others when she looked at baby Myra, it faded away from them. "Have you considered turning him?" Lana asked, her eyes honed on a scrap of text in a book she could barely read. The translation was around here somewhere, but at this point she was skimming anything.

Morrigan paused in sponging the sticky honey that dribbled off the side to glance at Lana. "Turning? Whatever for?"

"Bed sores, those who lay for too long in one place can develop them," she threw off without a thought. "I often ask Cullen to..." Her words faded at the narrowing of those yellow eyes. Shaking it off, Lana returned to her work that seemed to be circling the drain.

The witch didn't take up her advice right away, she was too busy trying to comb Kieran's hair back out of his face. It looked longer than would be stylish for a boy his age. How long had he been in this coma? Morrigan clipped her purple nail against the desk she sat Lana at, "Tis strange to think of you toiling away in a refuge, healing the sick castoffs of the chantry, and none aware of who you are."

She shrugged, "I enjoy the work, the challenge, and..." Lana glanced out towards the living area as they came to call it. Cullen was trying to wash something in a bucket, though not vigorous enough to be clothing. Perhaps it was their son. Maker's sake, she was Gavin's mother and she didn't know if he was in the middle of a bath or not.

Morrigan caught the direction of her gaze and sighed, "I don't know why it comes as a surprise to me that you would foolishly tie yourself to yet another mage hunter."

"Well, you never did understand love," Lana said. "What'd you call it, a weakness?"

"That..." the woman reared back as if Lana slapped her. Her wary eyes darted back to the boy she risked her own life and the threat of an entire nation for. "Life can have a way of humbling, whether one wishes it or no."

Lana laughed at that and stared down at her legs. They got her through rooms and down the occasional hall but that was it. Without magic she could be bed bound for days. Even using it, there were times the pain overwhelmed her. From the Hero of Ferelden to...a quiet cripple hiding in the woods. By all story rights she should have to train up the next great savior of the world before dying in some predictably stupid way.

Flexing her weary hands that were growing tired of flipping pages, she returned to her work. "You seemed surprised I was here, but not that I was alive," she said.

"Were you trying to keep that information a secret? If so, informing that elf was your first mistake."

"Zevran can hold his tongue when he needs to," she brushed off Morrigan's attempt at wedging a bar between her relationship with the old assassin. Lana was doing this to save the baby, not to help Morrigan. That friendship died the moment she held a knife against Myra.

"As you say," she seemed to give in before folding her arms and leaning against the potion table, "still, willing to leap to the old fool's side. Give of yourself for him when he was the one to shatter your heart in the first place."

"Don't," Lana muttered.

"Point out the obvious?" she smirked.

"No," Lana spun around, her eyes narrowed, "Don't attempt to insert yourself back into my good graces by attacking Alistair. Believe it or not but I can move on past grudges and hurt. We are friends and I care for him. I care for his daughter as if she were my own. What you did was...?"

Snarling, Lana buried her face in the book, knowing there was nothing there but needing to move pages lest she smash her fist into Morrigan's perfect nose. She was exhausted beyond measure, three days in and there was no answer, no thread to unravel, not even a starting point. All Morrigan would say was that Keiran slipped into a coma and refused to awaken. She seemed as confused as Lana on the matter.

The witch folded her arms up and in her cold voice said, "You have a child now, do you not? A little boy, which is an impressive feat given the taint swirling inside of you. What measures did you go to to achieve that?"

"It was an accident, Morrigan. We didn't set out to create him, nor did I have to threaten anyone's baby to do it."

"A side effect of your plan? One you had no intention to make, but once he was here you felt it," her head dipped down and the cold snapped off. Within her frosty depths rolled a sob, "You love him."

Lana turned from her work, fully shocked to find a few tears dripping down the witch's cheek. "Of course I love him," Lana said, "he's my son."

That drew a cruel smile to Morrigan's face, "And if he were dying, what would the Hero of Ferelden do to save him? What atrocities would she commit? Demons would she consort with? Banned magics cast to protect her child? To save someone she loved?"

"I..." There were a few lines in her life she knew she would never cross. Even while taking down an archdemon, while nearly dying in the deep roads, scrounging and scraping in the fade, she refused to turn to blood magic. It was a sign of weakness in a person's will to use it. But if Gavin was hurt...

Maker, even in those first few days when they had barely held him, hadn't seen his smile, or heard him chatter away, she would have risked her own healing to give him life. Now? "I don't know," Lana admitted, her fingers tapping against the vellum.

Morrigan smirked at that, "That's what always made you so interesting, Warden. You tend to think before judging. A rare trait in this world." She stared at Reiss who was dragging a whet stone across her sword and glaring at nothing.

"Then tell me Morrigan, what would you do if someone stole your child and threatened to bleed him dry to cast a spell?"

She blinked a moment and sighed, "I'd gut them like a pig before they had a chance to explain." Either unaware of her hypocrisy or fully embracing it, Morrigan returned to Kieran's side.

Lana could take no more. It was bad enough suffering the long hours of research -- which she hadn't done in years -- but doing it while playing mental chess with the witch was rubbing her raw. She needed a rest and, Maker, to have someone massage every muscle in her useless body. Gripping onto the list of things she thought might help, Lana staggered to her weary feet.

Her cane measured the tread of the floor, every beat of it echoing against the walls and stone ceiling as she inched towards her husband. Cullen sat on the ground, his legs extended out to keep Gavin pinned in while their baby stared up in rapt attention.

"Where'd Daddy go?" he asked, covering his eyes with his hands. Gavin's mouth hung open as if this was the most important question ever put to him. Far more vital than what is the meaning of life. Where could his father have gone? Before he had a chance to fuss, Cullen pulled his hands off and smiled, "Here I am."

At that magic trick, Gavin cracked up, his fists flailing through the air as if demanding an encore. Reaching forward, Lana skirted her hand across Cullen's shoulders. He craned his head up to her and a strained smiled followed. It shouldn't surprise her that he was miserable, but Lana was thrown back by how poorly he was doing at faking it.

"I need a break, a real nap, and after sitting in that chair so long I could really go for your hands digging into my body," she tried to play it lighthearted, but it wasn't working. Even she didn't feel it.

Cullen nodded, "Of course." He staggered up, leaving Gavin to wonder why his father was replaced by a pair of legs, when Cullen plucked him up from the ground. Unable to handle the cuteness, Lana reached over to tickle her baby's tummy.

"Maker's sake, he feels full."

"He should, it's past supper time," Cullen remarked with a shrug.

"What?" Lana glanced around as if there was any sun to tell the time. "Why didn't you come get me? What did he eat?"

"Mashed peas and carrots, and Reiss pitches in when she can. You seemed...busy," he ended with.

"Cullen, I..." He didn't take the whole explanation of Kieran's creation well. Not surprising really that a templar would frown on what could be construed as blood magic. She wasn't certain if it was the fact she helped in the matter or that she kept it from him that hurt more. Explaining that she kept it to herself for Morrigan's sake wasn't helping seeing as how the witch then betrayed her by kidnapping an infant.

Rolling his clouded brow back and forth, Cullen mumbled, "It's upon you to save the young man. The less we bother you, the more likely you are to solving it."

"I'm sorry," she blubbered, all the stress and exhaustion bashing its way into her heart. Those tears she thought she kept to herself began to drip down her cheeks. "I didn't want to...don't mean to..."

The sobs drew the attention of both Alistair and Reiss, the former sitting by the fire with Myra. "Maker's breath, Lana, I'm..." Cullen wrapped his free arm around her shoulders and tried to tuck her into a hug, but he was too full up with baby. Their baby who should be back at home playing with Honor and being doted upon by two of their washer girls.

"Come on," he tried to tug her onward towards their bedroom. Reiss and Alistair took the octagon room because Ali found it hilarious for whatever reason. The two of them found a smaller one with a functioning door they could close. Not that either were in any mood to be frisky down here, but it was nice to get away from everyone even if it was only with a thin sheet of stone between them.

A pair of pallets stretched across the stone slab, all that Alistair could get for the interim. Lana feared what it would mean if they had to send for actual mattresses. Cullen managed to create a small baby jail for Gavin. He stuffed a good four blankets on the ground for comfort, then placed an old grate -- no doubt used to protect the dwarves from forge fires -- tight to the wall. They could see their baby, and he could see them, but he wasn't getting out of that thing until he learned to climb or gained incredible strength.

For now, Cullen helped Lana to the bed and placed Gavin beside her. She brushed her hand through his thick hair and smiled. "I'm not sure if you're lucky or cursed to have my locks," Gavin's curls already knotted closer to his head. To think he was born without anything. "I can't do a thing with it when it rains."

"You're not the only one," Cullen added, slotting in behind her. "Tell me if it hurts," he said before digging his forefinger and thumb into her shoulders.

Maker's breath, Lana moaned, instinctively leaning back into the hands worrying away the stress knotting up her body. He increased the pressure, working his way down her shoulders and arms. When they first began together, Cullen wasn't the best at massages, but her time in the fade changed that. He had to get better or she could barely function. Gently, he switched to cupping up and down her arms before plying his thumb against her fingers and rubbing the pain away. Those were the worst when she'd been casting a lot of magic.

Lana was nearly jelly, when Cullen switched to kneel in front of her and worked on her legs. Gavin was often privy to these moments, sitting on the bed, or sometimes trying to crawl off it. His mother always made certain he didn't fall, but for now he seemed content to sit and watch his father helping her. Digging into the calves, Cullen lifted her foot out of her shoe and began to roll his tight knuckles against the ball.

Tears sprung up in Lana's eyes and she spat out, "I love you."

He chuckled a moment at that, "I didn't realize my massages could create such devotion."

"No, I mean it, I..." she cupped onto his shoulders, drawing Cullen's attention away from her feet. When those honey eyes landed on hers, he gasped from the tears spilling out of hers. "I love you, both of you, beyond belief and I'm sorry we're stuck here. Really. I just...I couldn't..."

"You couldn't let someone die," he nodded his head, those perfect fingers reaching up to cup her salt stained cheek, "I understand. I do, I'm only..."

"Tired, grumpy, annoyed?" Lana threw out suggestions which Cullen smirked at.

"I would say concerned."

"Worried, of course, why didn't I guess that one first?"

Her husband shrugged, well aware of his attributes nearly four decades in. "What if...Lana, what if this lasts for over a week, two? A entire month?"

"I'm doing all I can as fast as I can," she shrieked, the anxiety rolling into anger. Cullen blinked slowly at that, his eyes softening to pools of pain as they landed upon Gavin. Their baby. Maker's breath, but she missed her son. They'd have a routine at home, a good one where she'd feed their baby breakfast, then Cullen would carry him around on rounds. A lot of their charges adored greeting a full and happy baby in the morning. Post nap Lana would play with Gavin, before his father took over. Then it was dinner time, a bath, wiggling a pudgy baby into pajamas and sleep. It was a simple, busy life but she missed it.

Now her days were nothing but staring at ancient magics willing anything to make sense. She'd tried every spell she knew, began to brew up various herbal remedies, even a few that she suspected were mostly snake oil in the off chance something might help. The only reason Kieran yet drew breath was because of his mother's magic.

"I'm trying so hard," Lana said. She gripped onto his shoulder, the other hand cupping Gavin's back.

Cullen picked up her fingers and seemed to be weighing them, "Perhaps there is another way."

She snorted, "If you think I can charm Morrigan into releasing Myra by appealing to her conscience you put too much faith in me."

"No," he slid onto the bed beside her and wrapped an arm across her shoulders. Instinctively, Lana tucked her head against his chest even as her brain was pinging a warning. He was going to say something guaranteed to make her angry. Cullen only gripped onto her knee as if he was afraid she was about to bolt when he did it.

"You say that only blood magic can remove the curse put upon their baby?"

"Are you...?" Lana staggered away from him, trying to stare into his eyes but he was glaring through the distance, "You're not seriously suggesting I--."

"No," Cullen lashed out, horror flattening his cheeks, "Maker's grace, no, not you. But, there is a blood mage. Your cousin knows her, in fact. We were all supposed to ignore the talk that she was because of her running in the Champion's circle, but the rumors were more pronounced than usual."

"And you think that's smart? For Hawke to bring a blood mage here? What then, Cullen? There's a chance Morrigan will kill Myra before this malifecarum makes a single step into the cave."

"There are ways around..." he tried, but Lana wasn't hearing it.

"And then what? Leave Kieran to die? Morrigan on a rampage? Or, no doubt, you figure we'd have to kill her too. A real bloodbath on our hands," Lana wished she could stagger to her feet to pace but she was trapped in place, feeling helpless even as her veins burned.

"For the love of the Maker, Lana, she was going to kill a baby," he whipped his head to her, trying to bludgeon her to his side with reason. "Do you truly think she ever stood a chance of surviving after that?"

"She wasn't planning on surviving at all," Lana spat out, causing Cullen to blink rapidly. "What? You didn't catch that part? There's no way a baby would be enough to power any spell strong enough to do what Morrigan had planned. She'd have to slit her own veins open as well. Slowly, to have time to cast the magic and leave nothing behind to save her."

"I had no idea," he shrunk back a moment into himself.

"If I get this right, if I can find a damn solution then...blighted no one has to die here. I know Alistair's mad, Reiss looks like she's going to rip out Morrigan's throat with her teeth. But we can _all_ walk away. Weary, but alive. It's..." She drew her hands to cup around her face, shielding it from everything around her. With the blinders on, Lana stared not at the floor or wall but through the veil itself. It was growing easier with time, if she twisted her head too fast she could almost see the edges of a waterfall rising upward or lakes on fire.

Cullen's hand cupped the back of hers and he tried to tug it free. It took a moment before Lana snapped back from that unknowable place that haunted them all. "You believe in her?"

"No, I believe in myself. Sometimes, it's all I ever could. I can't take the easy path here. There was a lot of death in my life, a lot of choices that maybe didn't have to be made, but..." Lana shuddered and she turned to the man who didn't have a spotless record either, "It was never a wrinkle or grey hair I feared seeing in my morning mirror. It was what I wouldn't see in my eyes that haunted my nightmares."

Cullen fell silent, his head drifting down as if he too could peer into the fade. Asking someone to kill an old friend, letting the child die as well was a hard sell to anyone. Lana knew her time was ticking away, if not the taint, age itself would get her, and she'd rather leave daisies in her wake than scorched earth. "Okay," he nodded, "we'll keep at it your way. I was thinking of having the King send a message out to our abbey. Was there anything you required not book related?"

"I don't know. I feel like I'm chasing a ghost, which...in retrospect I've done often and that's more a corporeal fight than whatever illness terrorizes Kieran. It's not the taint, that's easy. It's not a fever, his body is fine. It's..." Her head hung down, Lana crumpling into a ball to suck in air. Thoughts and ideas sparked in her weary brain, but it all ran into piles of fluff, the lightning breaking against it until smoke rendered it into a foggy wasteland. She could feel something in there, but it didn't taste tangible. Every time she almost touched the thought it slipped from her fingers.

Hands tugged her backwards, Lana not realizing she'd fallen silent for so long until she was resting upon the bed. "You need to sleep," he said. "I can take Gavin out and..."

"No, please," Lana didn't rise from where her husband helped her down, but she reached out to grab his arms, "stay, both of you. I miss you."

"Very well," a whisper of a smile drifted upon Cullen's weary face. He plucked up their son into his arms and the two of them rounded to the other side. Holding Gavin to his chest, Cullen flopped onto his back and let their baby slide into a safe gap between them. Entranced with the fur lining her robe, Gavin began to bend down to first grab then chew on it, until he face planted against his mother.

"Up we go," Cullen laughed, assisting their boy into a proper sit. Giggling along with, Lana poked at her boy's feet. Such a lovely shade of tan, not as lighter than hers as she'd thought he'd be. The white nails stuck out against his coloring, so tiny and adorable it made him seem even smaller and more fragile than he was. Her little fighter.

"I'm scared," Cullen spoke to the air. "I was...horrified to think that there was a witch stealing children. It's not as if I hadn't heard such rumors before; it was a favorite one for people to speak against blood mages. But it was a foolish whisper, almost never any evidence. And now," He cupped Gavin's chubby cheek, reaching back to mess up the curls. "I feel powerless to help."

Lana snuggled tighter to her husband, flipped onto her side. Wanting her nearer, Cullen raised an arm so she could rest her cheek upon his chest. The warmth of him, the feel of his body rising and falling with each breath soothed away some of the smoky fog in her brain. "You're helping me, you're keeping Gavin fed, bathed, happy, and even standing."

"No, I..." his breathing slowed and she felt the once soft pillow of his chest harden as if his entire body snapped rigid. "I haven't felt this debilitating of fear since the tower."

"Are you suffering from a Wednesday?" Lana tried to twist over. Maker, that'd be just what they'd need on top of this mess. It was a wonder she hadn't fallen down the dark path herself.

He shook his head quickly, his curls digging into the straw pillow while the honey eyes stared up at the ceiling. A breath passed, then two more before he spoke again as if half the conversation occurred in his head, "With Gavin. There are decisions that must be made, and I find myself choking up. He's teething and all I can do is beg for him to stop crying. What about further along? When he skins a knee, will I fall apart? Or if he should, Maker take me for even thinking it, succumb to a fever or other illness? What do I do if...if there's too much of me inside of him."

"What do you mean?"

Cullen sat up, shifting the baby who'd been happily prodding at his toes fully unaware of his parents talking about him. "I keep fearing, thinking that, what if our son's not a good man? What if he...if he goes as far as I did, or further?"

"Oh, sweetheart," she crumbled at the panicking tears in his eyes. Wrapping her arms around his head, she tugged the warm forehead to rest against hers. His eyes were shut tight, but she kept staring at the lids and the lashes that were almost caramel colored at the tips. "You're doing a good job. Really. I know it was a rocky start, but you're doing all you can. Gavin will become his own person. We don't know what that will be, but..."

She lifted his head from hers and Cullen opened his splotchy eyes. "We fought for a world so that he wouldn't have to face the same problems as we did. And, Maker willing, that'll make him better than the both of us."

Shuddering in a breath, Cullen dipped his head down and placed a kiss against her hands, then two more. "You're right, you're always right. I shouldn't worry. I..."

"Don't be silly," she laughed, "if you stopped worrying I wouldn't know it's you."

His lips lifted in a half smile, when he slid his head forward and caught hers in a kiss. Sweet as fiery honey, that always simmering burn erupted deep inside her weary bones. No doubt he felt it too, but Cullen slipped down to the pallet, doing his best to let Lana return to laying upon him. He placed a gentler kiss to her forehead before whispering, "You require sleep and I am keeping you from it. Do not worry, I'll keep an eye on Gavin."

She watched her baby a bit more before closing her eyes. Only the gentle wave of Cullen's breathing broke through the rising sleep, each one rocking her deeper into the fade. He waited until her hand dropped to his chest, no doubt hoping she was fully gone, to ask what must have been weighing upon him.

In a quivering voice, he spoke, "Lana, what does Morrigan's boy mean to you?"

She didn't answer because she didn't have one to give.


	31. Pride Goeth Before A Fall

"No."

She knew Cullen would refuse, but when Lana mentioned the fade he all but forbade her to even be thinking of it. It was a wonder he didn't also pluck her up over his shoulders and lock her in her room for entertaining the idea. The sleep did her good, Lana waking with a potential idea that was growing more and more to a possibility until it ran right into the wall of a concerned templar.

"If you'd just..." she tried, but Cullen began pacing again around the fire. For once everyone was there, even Morrigan, though she kept far abreast from Reiss and Alistair.

"This is madness; you do not belong in the fade."

Lana growled, wishing he'd knock off the protector crap and listen. At her funny noises, Gavin grabbed onto her collar and began to yank upon it. "No sweetie," she tried to stop him from destroying what few clothes she had, "not now."

"How would that even work?" Alistair spoke up. "Don't mages need a lot of you and lyrium to get across the veil? Least that's how I remember it."

At that her husband stopped wearing a hole into the ancient stone to wave his hand at Alistair. It screamed 'I can't believe I'm agreeing with this man, but listen to him.' Lana groaned and tipped her head back. She knew this wouldn't go over well, but Maker's sake it shouldn't be so hard either.

"I have some...special skills that require only one other mage to power it." She glanced over at Morrigan, "Seeing as it's your son I rather doubt you'd object." Morrigan's haunting eyes sized up Lana, seeming uncertain about this ability of a circle mage, but she tipped her chin. She was willing to try anything.

"No, no, no," Cullen dashed back in, all but ramming his hand between them. "There is no way you are being left at the behest of a witch." A solitary laugh drew Cullen to snarl at the smirk rising up Morrigan's mouth. "A witch who's likely to throw in with demons and Maker knows what else."

"Is it demons you fear templar, or your wife succumbing to their empty promises?" Morrigan spoke her first words to Cullen, to anyone aside from Lana. Of course that wasn't helping.

He sneered and spun on Morrigan, "What I fear is the fade itself. I know far too well the pains demons can inflict. Better than you can possibly imagine, witch."

"Cullen," Lana ran her fingers over his hand, trying to tug it down from the threatening point it gave to Morrigan. "I can do this."

The anger in his face faded as he stared down at her perched upon the altar. Doleful eyes blinked and he almost shyly tucked his chin deeper into the collar of his shirt, "The fade is not a safe place."

"Which I know, better than anyone here," she was getting tired of him treating her like she was glass, of all of them doing it. Lana's body may be broken but when it came to magic and her will both where iron clad. Thwarting demons was how she survived for two years.

"Lanny, please, there's got to be a better way. Something other than running headlong into demon land."

"There's not. I can sense it, a force not tugging on the boy the way possession would but blocking his mind, sundering it. I...I cannot explain it well, but I feel it." Two pairs of brown eyes all but begged her to give up this idiotic idea. Cullen wouldn't stop holding tight to her shoulder as if he just squeezed hard enough she'd stay put.

"Let her do it."

Both men whipped over to the lone voice willing to stand up with her. Reiss held a sleeping Myra in her arms, her head tipped down as she stared at the floor.

"Reiss, the fade's not really a fun place to hang out in," Alistair tried to slide an arm around her, but he got a glare for it.

"No shit, but she's willing to try. To get us out of here. Or..." Reiss jerked her chin at Morrigan, her green eyes narrowing tight like a beam of light, "are you willing to release the curse on Myra and free us all from this prison."

The witch chuckled and folded her arms, "No."

"Then let her try. You trust her," Reiss asked Cullen, then turned to Alistair, "I assume you as well. What's the worst that could happen?"

Possession. Trauma. Death.

Lana shook the thought off the moment it struck. Going in fatalistic wouldn't help her. "If that's all settled," she said, rising up to her feet.

"It is not settled, I will not..." Cullen began but she shook off his hands.

"I'm doing it. Now you can either sit and watch me to make certain I'm well or keep an eye on Gavin."

Cullen growled out, "Fine, it's not as if I can stop you anyway. Will you entertain our son while my wife's in the fade?" He spun back to Alistair who nodded grimly. After handing over the baby that really wanted to rip the collars off of shirts that day, Cullen turned back to her and whispered, "I do not approve."

"I don't care," she spat back. This was her only option now. After that there was no answer but blood, and Lana wasn't going to let that happen.

"Maker's breath, how were you ever in the circle?" he groaned, taking her hand and helping her back towards Kieran. Morrigan followed close on their heels, leaving Alistair and Reiss to watch uncertainly.

"I wonder that myself some days," Lana confessed, leaning heavily onto her cane. She was going to need all the magic at her disposal to pull this off. "Here, I should be near the boy. It'll make this easier."

Cullen hefted her into his arms and gently laid her across a bench ten feet away from Kieran. Lana glanced down at her toes just skimming at the end and laughed, "It's a good thing I'm so short or..." her thought died at the terror bobbing in his eyes. Reaching out, she grabbed onto his hand, "Cullen?"

It took a moment before he spoke, his lips pursing in no doubt the hot, spitting anger he kept swallowing, "You will come back."

"I promise," she whispered.

"You will stay safe."

Lana smiled and patted his hand, "Don't I always?"

She thought it'd get a laugh out of him, but he grew more sullen. Glancing away from her, he spoke softly so she wouldn't hear but the words dropped to reach Lana. "No, you don't."

"I assume I will be acting as a conduit," Morrigan spoke up between them.

"That's the plan," Lana said. She shut her eyes, focusing on ripping apart the veil nearly touching her fingers, her skin, her brain. It would take a lot of mana, but not as much as it once did. Even with her eyes closed she could see Cullen shifting away from her but not far. He kept a grip to her hand, watching as she tried to control her magic.

If he was really against this idea, he could hit her with a dispel, knock away the magic before she got a grip. But he trusted her enough even while grumbling like mad about the idea of this. Reaching out with her mind, Lana tried to find Morrigan, who was perched beside her son. The bond was evident even through the veil, mother to child, tendrils of green and yellow darting from one to the other. Was that how love looked while in the fade? She'd never really seen it before.

Locking her mind tighter against the bond wafting from Morrigan into Kieran, Lana brushed her fingers against the veil. It wobbled, requiring more power. No, that wasn't what it wanted. Biting her lip, she ripped off the bandage that slotted over her mind after she walked in the fade. What she needed to survive every day. The veil sang to her anew, its crystal clear voice stronger than even the taint. With renewed vigor, Lana trailed after the song and sundered the veil.

Blood. Her eyes opened to find pools of it trapped between her legs, the sticky viscera glistening by candlelight. It soaked deep into her nightgown and the sheet below, crimson and fresh as if...

A baby's cry erupted from the shadows. Lana glanced away from the gore in her lap to find she was at home in her room and her bed. Not trapped in some cave in the deep roads. A sickening feeling struck and she realized what this was. Gavin's birth. When she nearly died, when he nearly died.

_You're not losing blood. You're not in pain. This is the fade._

Sucking in a breath, Lana lowered her feet to the ground. As they struck it, the blood vanished from between her legs, but she spotted more of it splattered upon the stone floor. Splotches of the gore decorated the ground -- it looked as if someone smacked it with a blood soaked towel. Staggering up, Lana began to follow the trail of blood. A few of the puddles gave way to teeny tiny feet paddling unsteadily and leaving gruesome evidence as the gait steadied towards the exit. As she walked through the door out into the night air, the feet began to get larger. They looked child sized.

No wind swept through the fade, but a chill ramped up Lana's spine. She tried to huddle tighter into her nightgown and instinctively glanced up to check the clouds. There it was, the Black City. Never out of sight in the fade, no matter how deep the dream fantasy was. The pea green sky struck hard at her core, memories of her years scrabbling against the void to survive invading her mind.

_You have a job to do! Finish it and then you can leave._

Locking away the feel of demon blood burning her flesh or the taste of spider meat in her gut, Lana stood up. Another cry erupted from the darkness, still belonging to a young baby. The back of her neck crawled, but she had to ignore the conclusions her subconscious made. Stopping now was unwise, unavoidable. She had to know.

The blood trail led deeper into the abbey, the lights fading to shadows until all Lana could see were the bright red stains growing in size. Even the floor itself turned black as pitch, while that blood all but coalesced as if it burned with energy or anger. Each footstep became man sized, the owner stepping through a closed door without pausing. Sucking down a breath to steady herself, Lana gripped onto the handle of the door and turned it.

This wasn't her abbey, but a room in a castle -- well furnished with fine trappings. A familiar room that...

"You remember it, don't you?" a voice spoke from the shadows. As he lifted his head, the fireplace lit bright revealing what she remembered in her mind's eye. Lana had to blanket her eyes to keep them from searing, but as she pulled it down she nearly let loose a scream.

A young man sat perched in the chair but he was coated in blood as if he drowned in it. Thick as ink, the viscera clung to his skin until he looked more like a walking blood clot than a man. His crimson lips parted to reveal blinding white teeth framed by a horrifying smile. "Right there," he tipped his head towards the bed, "that's where I was created. Conceived."

This was Morrigan's room, the one they put her up in right before the march to Denerim. The one where she seduced Alistair to finish what she wanted, what she set out to do. Which meant this was... "Kieran?"

The abomination before her bowed his head, "At your service. Though, dear Amell, you seem unsteady here. Rocking back and forth on your feet, nearly trembling. Whatever for? Was it not your decision to give me life?"

"I think that was more your mother's department," Lana shuddered, but he was right. Even years after, even with a husband, Lana refused to look at this room again, knowing what Morrigan did in it. What she made Alistair do. What he agreed to do.

"Jealousy?" Kieran twisted his head, blood whipping off his coated body to splatter against the wall. "Is that what rests in your heart when you think upon me, Amell?"

"No," Lana said, "no it's not." She hated this room, and that bed, but she didn't hate the child created. "You saved my life."

"Yes, I did, didn't I?" Kieran staggered up to his legs, fresh blood pooling against the chair where he sat. Stepping slowly towards her, he smiled, "Not even bigger than a pea and I saved the hero of Ferelden. But that's not really the story you want to tell, is it? To have that etched into all your monuments. The great savior of thedas was in fact protected by nothing more than a blip inside a witch's womb."

Lana gulped as he reached his fingers towards her, the scent of iron and pain filling her nose. When he touched her cheek, she kept from yelping even as the warm blood suckered to her skin and began to drip down onto her shoulder. "Are you angry at me, Kieran? Is that what this is about?"

"Me? Why would I be angry at you? I wouldn't exist if it weren't for you. If anything, I owe you." He leaned closer to her, his eyes swimming in blood all save the brown pupils that were strikingly similar to Alistair's. Lana felt a faint sliding up her legs, her vision turning white from being pounded by so much horror.

Kieran chuckled, "Right, auntie?" and Lana's head snapped down to save her.

When she glanced up, she found the gruesome nightmare was gone. She was perched, sitting upon the edge of a stair, her knees scabby, and naked, and tucked up tight to her chin. The staircase was tight, barely wide enough for a single person to slip through with low ceilings that'd bonk most heads. Not a castle and not familiar at all. Glancing around to find her bearings, she spotted Kieran -- no longer coated in blood -- sitting behind her.

"Where are we?"

"Shh," he placed a finger to his lips and smiled, "you'll ruin the surprise."

Lana didn't like where this was going, but she may have to play along. She knew the boy's mind was fractured, but this... Shaking her hair, she realized it was braided tight. Not the way she did it in her older age, but how her mother insisted when she was...

_No. Oh, Maker no!_

"I don't like this," an achingly familiar voice whispered from below. They couldn't see her from here, but Lana could hear. She'd often crawl out of bed at night to listen to her parents. Sometimes they'd argue, sometimes they'd talk about their kids, and they'd always reveal secrets. She loved hearing all their secrets, then taunting her brother with them later.

"We don't have a choice in the matter, Relka," her father spoke, followed by the sounds of his steps pacing against the floor below. "That ice was nearly an inch thick under her bed."

Lana dug her grubby fingernails tighter to her knees. They were talking about her, about the bad thing she did. Her mother cried and cried when they found the ice, but she didn't remember making it. Didn't understand what was so bad about it. It melted same as any ice, Lana and her brother breaking it up and throwing it at each other outside. Her legs were still stained with the mud it created, both of them laughing and threatening to make the other eat a mudpie.

"But she's just a child," her mother continued, sadness evident even to a six year old.

"When has that ever mattered? They know us, know our family, we're marked already. If we try to hide her away, try to bury this..." Her father sighed, "Relka, they'll come for us all."

"You're right," her mother tried to whisper, but a sob echoed through her words. "We don't have a choice. The templars will..."

Her mother's voice died at the sound of someone knocking on their front door, hard. Instinctively, Lana glanced back up the stairs to her room wondering if she could run quick enough to hide under her bed. But she was frozen in fear, knowing something was wrong but no idea what it was or what to do.

Below her, the front door opened and a voice echoed funny, almost as if the man put his head into a bucket and shouted, "We've come for Solona Amell."

"I...give me a moment," her father said. "Please, sit down."

"Thank you," the men both spoke, their armored feet clattering across the ground floor. She should run. She was smart; she could climb out the window onto the tree and then run away. Once Lana managed to get all the way to the end of the road on her own. That had to be far enough to escape the bad men her mother was afraid of.

Creaking on the stairs drew her eyes up from her knees and she stared stricken into her father's face. He tried to smile wide; she remembered him always having an easy smile. But it wasn't taking this time. The words were light but the voice was one that told her she'd better obey.

"I should have known you'd be here," he sighed. "Come with me, Lamby. There's...something you have to do." Plucking her tiny body up off the stairs, he began to carry her away from everything she ever knew. Her father was willing to turn her over to the templars without a fight. Without even trying. He messaged them, turned his own daughter in.

"You didn't fight them off?" Kieran asked, his head twisted to the side in confusion.

Lana stared at the intruder from over her father's shoulder, the man freezing mid-stride to do what he did. There was no rescue, no one had a change of heart and let her stay with her family. He dropped her into the templar's arms with a bit of food, a single toy, a few bundled up dresses, and nothing more. No, there was one thing. He kissed her on the forehead, the last one she'd feel until...until Alistair.

"I couldn't," she cried, feeling as helpless as the six year old.

"But you're the great Hero of Ferelden. Warden Amell who's fought scores of darkspawn, and stopped a blight while living to tell about it. How could you give in to this pathetic ploy?"

Her father resumed carrying her towards them, the stairs creaking for the last time at her. When he dropped her to the ground, Lana gazed skyward in awe. She'd never seen armor before, and to her child brain the templars glittered like rain against a cloudy sky. Two giant rain clouds come to cart her away from her family and all she knew. Kieran leaned down from the staircase to peer at the scene, his floppy brown hair dangling freely. "Go ahead. Stop them. You know you can. You're stronger than the both of them."

Lana stared upward at these giant faces what felt miles away. She closed her tiny fist and felt the magic swirling through her. Not the piddly ice spells she'd accidentally unleash as a child, this was decades of training and honing. Her entire life. With the power cultivated inside of her she could freeze these men solid and shatter them.

The thought seemed to energize Kieran and he giggled, "You could stop your parents too. Kill them."

"What?" Lana threw off the spell immediately, glaring at the boy.

He shrugged, "They turned you in. Turned on you. They're traitors. You should give back to them what they did to you."

"No," Lana shook her head, laying her hands flat to her sides. Both gauntleted hands landed upon her thin shoulders, pinning her in place. She could fight, but she wouldn't. There had to be a better way.

"For what purpose do you show loyalty to your parents? They abandoned you to men you'd never met, an institution that cares nothing for you or your kind. Would you do the same?"

Lana turned from the dark slit in the templar's helms, her fears becoming manifested within the abyss. Swallowing it down, she whipped back at Kieran. "What are you talking about?"

"You have a son. He could be touched with magic. Would you be so callow, so cold, to let him be locked away in a circle tower never to see the light of day?"

"I..." A tightness gripped around her neck that had nothing to do with the memories at play. In truth, these weren't bad templars. One showed her a deep kindness that was rare even among the best of them. She didn't hate the circle, and they weren't chained up in a dungeon their whole lives. There were friends, games, fun, learning.

But there was also fear. So much fear stalking their every move that if they fell out of line for even a moment, they couldn't walk back from it. Death, or worse. To do that to her own baby was unconscionable. No, she wouldn't let anyone take Gavin, not over her dead body.

Lana turned towards Kieran, about to tell him off, when the world shifted below her. It wasn't anything as poetic as a flash of light, she simply glanced over not into her old family home but the cold, imposing stone of a tower. Taking in a breath, the burning scent of fresh magics and dozens of teenagers packed together in a room overwhelmed her. It smelled of a thunderstorm, anxiety, and lust. She knew these bricks, that window where someone's errant ice ball once shattered the glass, the fresh tapestries of the chantry hanging off the walls.

"So," Kieran spoke. He looked younger, perhaps 8 or 9, the age when Lana first saw him from across the garden in Skyhold. "This is where I would have been taken."

"There were hardly any templars left when you came of age," Lana said, clinging to a staff. She started upon finding the familiar piece of wood in her hands. _Where did it come from?_

Kieran stopped staring at the imposing ceiling shadowed high above their heads. A cold wind wafted through them and he smiled, "My mother protected me from them. From anyone who would try to hurt me. Would you do the same for your son, Hero of Ferelden? Would you kill for him?"

"What do you want from me?" she snarled, wishing to make sense of this stroll through her life. Yes, templars stole away children. Yes, she was one of those. There was no point in dwelling upon facts that didn't even matter anymore. The only templars remaining were all laid up in her abby, the rest having quietly slipped away from what they once were.

The boy's soft, brown eyes narrowed and a yellow flame danced through the pupils. "I wish to know, Solona Amell, when you came to power. Was it here? Surrounded by your fellow mages, learning and studying, with your head shoved in every book you could find. Jowan grew jealous of your prowess, you knew that even before he turned to blood magic. Knew how he envied and hated that it came easy to you. And you reveled in it."

"What?" she staggered back as if the child struck her. "No, I..."

"You're right," Kieran smiled. "It wasn't here where you grew to become what you are."

Like the snapping of his fingers, every sound ceased. She hadn't seen anyone around but could feel their presence, the tower was always bustling and full of life. Even in the middle of the night, when the apprentices would sneak out of bed for a bit of a laugh, the bricks themselves seemed to sing. But something strangled the breath away, every voice falling dead.

The stench of death wafted across her nose, charred flesh and burnt fat left to drip onto the cold stone until it coagulated into a forgotten goo. _No, no, not this..._ Lana shut her eyes tight so she wouldn't have to see the demon marks clawed into old blackboards. The fire from desperate mages that ripped apart bookcases and tables where she learned her spells. Or the bodies, so many bodies, scattered like firewood across the floors. How long were they left there to rot? Weeks judging by the smell, bones prodding up through the flesh that was already receding from death's grasp.

"This was it, wasn't it?" Kieran crowed as if the multitude of death was something to be excited about. "This was where you changed. Before it you were uncertain, cautious, every day regretting your decision to leave the tower and join with the Wardens."

Deep in her heart she felt the stab of betrayal, not from Loghain but Jowan. He was her friend, she trusted him, and then he... He lied, he used her to get away, to save his own hide. And she let him die. She cleaned up his mess and then watched him dangle from the rope.

"Yes," the man clapped, Kieran growing quickly in age as he smiled cruelly, "you feel it. That strength within, that assuredness that you, and only you, can dole out justice."

"What is the point of all this?" Lana screamed, the staff clattering from her fingers. "I'm trying to save you, not have you lecture me on my own past."

"Solona Amell, tut tut tut," the boy tapped a finger against his lips, "Proud, so proud she wouldn't even use the name her parents gave her. The one the templars came for. Did you think you were too good for that pedestrian name? Too good for the rules of the tower? You walked into the repository, you broke a phylactery. That's not allowed."

He drifted around her, Lana doing her best to keep her emotions in check. That was what it wanted. What it always wanted.

Kieran paused and looked up, "No, perhaps I am wrong. This isn't the place." He spun up to glare at the ceiling and the tower faded brick by brick to be replaced by turbulent skies. Purple lightning stung the air, blood and darkspawn ichor splattered against the ground while metal beat against metal. Lana gripped tight to the staff in her hands and turned. Stretched across the ground, bloody and beaten but not yet dead, was the archdemon. Its boney hide was festooned with arrows, blood seeped from every wound as the creature flopped across the ground, ready for the final blow.

"This is," Kieran declared.

The battle was frozen, swords held in place against shields, Morrigan in the middle of casting a spell, Leliana yanking an arm back to notch an arrow, and Alistair...

"You're remembering," it chuckled, circling closer until the putrid breath washed across her cheek.

It wasn't the staff in her hands but a sword, a giant one she yanked up off the ground. Lana spotted the great dragon fall, ready for someone to slice off the head, which was also when she caught Alistair running for it. The battle dashed forward as time resumed. The man who was to be King, who broke her heart for the crown, who she'd always love, glanced over and for a brief second their eyes met.

He was going to do it. Risk himself, risk the future of Ferelden, just to be the one. She couldn't let him. Waving her hand, magic tossed Alistair backwards. Not hard enough to hurt, but it pushed him far enough away he couldn't make it. Not before Lana did. Twisting in place, she ran full bore at the archdemon, its head raising off the ground to try and stop its demise. But it was too late, anger and determination driving the untrained mage forward. She struck against its head and then drove the blade deep into the serpentine neck.

Lana braced herself for the explosion but nothing came. The sword was jammed right through the archdemon, all but scissoring the head clean off, and yet... "In this moment," the creature returned, claws clinging to her shoulders as it peered over her shoulder down at the archdemon mere seconds away from death. "You became the one. It didn't have to be you. There was Alistair, my father, he could have taken the blow, but you wouldn't let him."

"He could have died," Lana gasped, sweat and blood dribbling off her forehead. A single crimson drop landed upon the archdemon's eye. Its pupil didn't constrict the way she expected, the dragon as glassy and frozen as everything else.

"So you took the hit? How brave you are. How noble. But what about my mother? What about me?" It turned to point at Morrigan, "Why make a deal with a witch you can't trust, why convince your lover to impregnate her if you were going to be the martyr the whole time?"

"I didn't know if I'd survive, if Alistair would. There were too many variables, I..."

"Or, perhaps you, Lady Amell, couldn't imagine a world without you? Perhaps you thought you would have to do anything you could, make a deal, create a child just so you could live because thedas could not, would not continue without you?"

She flexed her arms, twisting the blade back and forth as if trying to saw off the archdemon's head. Kieran tipped its head in curiosity, but she paid it no heed. Fighting against whatever spell of the fade or her own mind froze the battle, Lana yanked the sword free and turned to face Kieran.

"Is that what you want from me, demon? To admit my sins? To confess on bended knees that I am weak but deserve to be greater?"

The face shuddered, the demon trying to maintain Kieran's facade, but as she stepped closer the smiling boy melted away to reveal dozens of purple spikes. "You're so clever, little mage," the pride demon crowed. "So astute to suss me out, and yet, clever mage, do you not wonder what I am doing here?"

Lana raised the sword, the power of the fade growing through her. She used to fight it, to fear what she could do, but after so much time trapped here, she learned how to redirect it. To use it. "Where is Kieran?"

"He is...around."

"Have you possessed him? Hurt him?"

The pride demon laughed, revealing a horrifying view of a forked tongue and razor sharp teeth. "I am not here for the boy. He is of little interest to me beyond what tasty fish he can help me catch."

It began to grow larger, trying to scare Lana back. She was but one woman about to fight a pride demon, the most terrifying of the pantheon. And yet... A soft chuckle broke from her. The demon paused, its height leveling as it asked in an almost panicked voice, "What's so funny?"

"I am Solona Amell, and you..." She whipped the blade around, slicing deep into the creature's belly. Before it had a chance to whip its claws against her flesh, she shoved a hand deep into the innards and then lit it all on fire. The ball of fire danced, burning the demon alive from the inside. Staggering away, she could see it growing in strength, this red white ball trembling with fury as the demon's blood fed its hunger. The pride demon tried to rip it out, to save itself, but it was too late.

Tossing the sword to the ground, Lana grabbed both her hands in the air, feeling the ball of fire inside of it and then ripped them apart. Erupting from the inside out, the pride demon exploded. Intestines and other organs rained down upon the frozen combatants who fought to save Denerim, no one reacting to the death of a demon.

"...should not have challenged a woman who breathes the fade," she finished, kicking a foot into the pride demon's liver. For two years, she'd killed these things and used their organs to hold her water, to scorch spiders, to keep her alive. Without the demon to hold court over this part of the Fade, the illusion shattered. Brick by brick, the tower of Drakon fell apart but Lana didn't feel the pull to the earth.

Walking as if on thin air, she stepped towards a single blue light flickering in the distance. A soft noise broke from it, the sound as weak as an unweaned puppy, but she kept her guard up. In the fade she didn't need her cane, didn't feel a jarring pain up her legs that grew so familiar it was unnerving to not have it. She was the young hero, the Warden the pride demon attempted to feast upon, who prepared herself for another round.

The noise switched to a sniffling, as if someone couldn't stop crying and rather than attempt to stymie it, was merely breathing through the mucus and tears. Blue light flickered against a single basin, barely casting any illumination save a lone beam upon a man's face. He sat perched upon a bench, his head in his hands as he dug into his hair and cried.

"Kieran?" she spoke, her voice shattering the empty void.

His head snapped up, a sleeve trying to stifle the tears as he raised the other hand with magic to ward off demons, "Who goes there?"

"It's me, I'm..." she stuttered, realizing he'd never met her and had no reason to trust her, "I'm a friend of your mother's."

"My mother has friends? Next you shall tell me chocolate rains from the sky," he snorted and Lana laughed in response. Together, they both shook off the spells warping in their fingers. He looked normal, human -- as normal as one could look in the Fade, but...there was something wrong. When her eyes darted to the edges of his body it felt unfinished. Not as if she could see missing skin or bones, but as if all of Kieran wasn't here.

"You should not have come," he said softly. "It is too dangerous."

"The pride demon?" she asked, sliding onto the bench beside him. The blue light lifted higher, churning slightly amber. Was that Kieran's doing or the Fade reacting to her? "I killed it, Kieran. You're safe. Free."

He snickered, his lip lifting in a hauntingly familiar fashion, "The demon wasn't here for me. It had no use for someone like me. But my mother..."

"What do you mean?" Lana shook her head. She'd been certain that it must have been the pride demon's machinations. It taunted her to keep her busy and away from freeing its prey. Now that it was dead, surely they could both leave together.

"Even if it did want me, it couldn't touch me. Not in here, not where I'm..." he twisted his face into a pucker and spat out, "safe."

"I don't understand," Lana shifted on her haunches, trying to get Kieran to look at her, but the boy was busy staring at his hands. _Could he see the same missing edges?_

"Forgive her, she knows not what she does," the boy whispered. It sounded like something he'd read or heard often, struggling to take it to heart. But it made no sense here.

"Kieran, please, I'm here to help you. To save you," she began to reach towards him to try and hold his hand but the boy yanked it away quickly and wary eyes glared at her.

"You can't," he sighed, his hands coming to rest upon the bench. He turned away to gaze against this blue prison but Lana didn't move from him.

"Why? Why can't I help you? What's keeping you from waking?"

The boy snickered, "Ask my mother."

"Morrigan? But she's as lost as any of us. She's so beside herself she was willing to..." Lana let the thought die, but Kieran grew intrigued by it.

His brown eyes searched for hers through the shadows, "Willing to what? What has mother done now? Threatened an empire? Toppled a religion?"

"Stolen a baby," Lana said.

Kieran's brows met in confusion, then he groaned, his head flopping down. "Of course, of course she thinks that blood will, but... A baby? Whose baby?"

Two paths here, Lana, both fraught with danger. The truth could set him off, but if he sensed the lie in here, she may lose this tenuous bond. "King Alistair's," she said, then dropped her head, "your father's."

He didn't gasp but there was a moment of screwing up his eyes and mashing apart his forehead with his fingers. "Mother never...she never wanted to talk about him. About what happened. But no wonder he'd want nothing to do with me, being King and all."

"That isn't what happened. It was your mother's..." Lana stopped dead in her tracks from trying to defend Alistair to the son who never knew him. "Morrigan had her reasons."

"You know him, don't you? Just as you know me. Mother mentioned you often, the Hero of Ferelden. She'd never call you that, but thought the title funny."

"I do know your father, I know him to be a good man. A good man who right now is terrified of his baby girl dying. If...if I can't bring you out of the fade then your mother will..."

Kieran groaned at that and staggered up to his feet. As he paced, the light followed him, illuminating familiar stones and walls. "She will kill the child, use her blood. Maker's breath, mother. You're not thinking!"

"Not thinking about what? Kieran, what's going on? I have to know, for the baby's life. For mine as well."

Whether he heard her plea or not she couldn't be certain. The boy was restless and angry -- pacing back and forth, the emotion illuminated more of the deep roads where his real body lay. Where hers did as well. "She's so paranoid, panicking to try and keep me safe. And yet so certain in being right all the time. Is it any wonder the pride demon was drawn here to her? After what she did and all without checking."

"Checking? Checking what?"

"The blood," he froze in his steps and stared at Lana. "She never thought for a moment that I might have the old blood in me. Didn't plan for it. Didn't stop to think that it..." Kieran flexed his fingers, watching the same flutter at the edge of the eyes as if he both did and did not exist.

"You have what you need, or what I can give you at least," he finished with, flopping back down on the altar where in the real life his body lay. As he placed his head against his hands, the light dimmed back to that single blue flame. "Tell my mother that...that I forgive her, and that she can't fight everything."

Lana pinched into her eyes, trying to fight back a rising well of tears. The boy sounded as if he intended to let himself vanish across the void, but as long as his body remained breathing it wasn't possible. He was trapped here, in his own bubble of the fade. Impervious to demon attacks, but also impossible for him to leave it. _Maker's sake, what did Morrigan do?_

"Before," Kieran gripped onto her hand and it felt solid, real, his deep brown eyes begging for something, "before you go, could you stay a bit and tell me...tell me about my father? Things mother never would."

Nodding, Lana had to pause to suck in a breath and steady her voice. "I will. Where do I, I'm not certain where to begin."

"What's he like?"

"Alistair's a kind man, loyal to his friends and a cause, and prone to telling the most Maker awful jokes to cut the tension or just kill a bit of time."

The boy smiled, perhaps he'd do the same on occasion. "It's impossible to think of my mother ever being capable of standing someone like that."

"She, they didn't get along. Really. At all," Lana swallowed, well aware she was wading into dangerous territory alone.

Kieran blinked slowly, taking in her words and struggling to understand. If his parents never once liked each other then how did he come to be? She was prepared to tell him the truth, but he switched tactics. "Did my father ever speak of me? Think about me?"

"He did, sometimes. Wondered what he'd say to you if he ever met you. What he'd do," Lana smiled, easily remembering a letter on the subject. "Alistair feared in trying to seem rakish and impressive on the first meeting he'd probably jam his foot into a bucket and then fall flat on his face."

The boy laughed at the idea, then flitted his fingers through the front of his hair, yanking it upwards the same way his father would. Lana was about to point that out, when Kieran asked, "Do I have any siblings? Half ones at least?"

"Only one, the baby that your mother..." She couldn't finish the thought, didn't want to. "Her name's Myra and her mother's an elf."

"It must run in the blood," Kieran sighed flexing his fingers. "Tell me more of my father. His favorite food, subjects, what did he do during the blight?"

"Well, no wise man should ever come between the King and cheese," Lana laughed, sliding back onto the bench to get comfortable. Beside her, the boy listened in rapt attention as she told him everything she could about the father he was likely to never meet.


	32. Old Blood

Please...

She looked almost the same as she would while napping at home, her hair flattened against the pillow while barely a slip of sun made it through the shutters Cullen installed. How many times would he sneak up to their room to find her curled up in their bed catching up on sleep? He needed to know she was with him, to touch her warm cheek and brush back her wily hair. Every time he'd replace the water glass by the bed if only to explain his intrusion.

Lana's eyelids fluttered with sleep, but this wasn't a nap. Every so often she'd flinch or sneer, then a hand would knot together into a fist. The first time it happened, he sat up higher, all but prepared to drag Lana out of the Fade, even if he had to knock the witch out to do it.

When her hand relaxed, he snatched up her fingers. They were cold next to his skin, and gave no response back. Every other time he'd hold his wife's hand she'd give a small squeeze in return; now they lay bereft and motionless in his as she traipsed back into the world she nearly never left. He should have stopped her from doing this.

Right, because it's easy to contain Lana when she has half a mind about anything.

Still...she was a mother now. It wouldn't just be Cullen hurt if she didn't, if they...

"Blessed Andraste, bride of the Maker, cast your eye upon this one traveling through the Fade. Protect and guide her from any treacherous fiends that may cross her path and most of all, please," he sat up from his prayer, Lana's hand providing the other half of the clasped hands. Sliding back a few curls that clung to her cheek, he whispered, "bring her back to me."

"You think a god would care one whit about the machinations of a single human in a churning sea of them?"

It was the first time the witch spoke since Lana drifted deep into the Fade. His shoulders went rigid, Cullen straightening up to let Morrigan's poison drip harmlessly off his back.

"If you truly believe this Maker has turned from you, why beg and wheedle for his attention? It has always confounded me. In one breath the chantry claim he has left you all, and in another you invoke his name as if calling for a neighbor to come clear out the eves."

He clasped both his hands around Lana's, still unresponsive but her chest lifted in a slow breath. Not wanting to get into a theological debate with anyone at the moment, he focused only on his wife while whispering more prayers with silent lips. After the life he lived, the horrors he witnessed, he had to believe there was some otherworldly balance to it all. A reason and purpose beyond continual chaos and destruction. Otherwise waking every morning, facing an end without hope, would break him.

Morrigan, however, did not want to drop the subject, "You'd be far better off calling for Farmer Theodore to come to your aid than this Andraste or the Maker. What help could either provide beyond a convenient excuse to wave away anything you fail to understand?"

She stepped away from Kieran, either no longer needed for this connection or perhaps she never was. Maybe Lana lied to him and she could now enter the fade at will. How powerful was she growing, were all mages growing as the veil sputtered to its supposed doom? And what hope could anyone have against such magics unseen of since the days of Arlathan?

"Templar," Morrigan hissed, clearly needing attention, "have you no answer for your faith? No explanation?"

"It is not faith if I do," Cullen whispered to himself before turning to the witch. She looked more haggard than he remembered, the woman at Skyhold appearing that startling un-age that could be anything between 20 and 40. Now the world beat her down, the eyes sharp, but the cheeks sagging and pocked. So long they'd been on the run it was doubtful she had an easy time of it. Perhaps that should make him feel sympathetic, it probably would to Lana.

"Belittle it, belittle me, I don't care what you spew," Cullen said, glaring at her. "All that concerns me," he turned back to his wife laid out like the princess waiting for true love's kiss to wake her. It didn't work when she was trapped in the warden prison, nor would it work now. "Is her well being and my son's. Threaten that and then we shall have true words."

Morrigan sucked in a breath, her arms crossed as she was no doubt planning to unleash more of her vitriol if not against the chantry, then the templars themselves, or the uselessness of Cullen. They rarely crossed paths in Skyhold, the witch seeming happier for it, and he didn't care. As far as he was concerned back then she was the Inquisitor's problem. And now, they were trapped together, the woman unable to let go as she needed to poke and prod at something for a distraction.

She looked about to unleash it, when a shadow drifted from beside Cullen's edge of sight. Morrigan glanced up at it and then sneered, turning from them both. But before she could drift away, she whispered, "I do not wish any pain to Warden Amell."

It wasn't until her words finished ringing in his weary ears that Cullen caught on to why she left in a huff. Alistair stepped nearer, his hands hanging limply against his thighs as he stared hard at Lana, then glanced briefly towards his son. "How are things going?"

"She has not moved in an hour," Cullen reported. Perhaps it had been longer, he couldn't tell. "My son?" he whipped over quickly at Alistair, remembering who he left to guard his only child. The Maker had a true sense of humor in such things.

"Is sleeping. He and Myra were having a fun game of let's see what bad thing we can touch then put in our mouths to make the funny man shriek to stop. That was so invigorating, they both conked out like a light. Reiss is keeping an eye on them, but I imagine they'll be down for a bit."

His words faded as he stood up on tiptoes to gaze at Lana, then stared around the ruins, "Being down here, it's hard on them."

"Hard on us all," Cullen added in.

"True, very very true," he beat his hands together, something clearly on his mind that he didn't want to say. "So, uh, is this her first time in the fade since...?"

"Yes," Cullen spat out, glaring down at her silent fingers wrapped up in his. Wake up. Grip back. Please. Don't fall into this un-wakeable state the same as the boy. Could it be transferred? Was it contagious like an illness?

"Hey," a hand gripped onto his shoulder, gently patting it, "she'll get out of it. She's strong."

"Stubborn beyond measure is more the truth of it."

Alistair laughed a moment, "That's...I was about to say you have no idea, but I imagine I'm the one without a clue now. Not that Reiss isn't much better."

They weren't friends, they didn't speak well of each other, they never traded advice nor even letters. Everything Cullen knew of the man came second hand from his wife. But as he clung to her limp fingers, his palm caressing her cooling forehead, he looked over at the man clearly wanting someone to talk to.

The King was trying to yank his hair up by the roots, his head rocking back and forth like a buoy on the waves. "You wanna know the worst part about parenting? There's never enough time. Somedays I'm so tired of looking at my kids, they're whining, they're crying, they're covered in shit because one dumped the other down the latrine for a laugh. It's infuriating. But then I look up and think, 'Maker's breath, how much of all this did I just miss?'"

"Your other two," Cullen turned back to find the man with his head tipped up to the ceiling, perhaps to disguise any tears. "You miss them?"

"Every damn second I can't see them. And yet, when I am with them there are times I'd give anything to get away. It's... I keep thinking Spud's probably doing her sketches of all the advisors and making them guess who it is. Get it wrong and she'll sulk for a week with her bottom lip shoved far enough out you can balance an orange on it. And Cailan, he's upset because I'm not there to get the socks right. Three on the left -- green, red, green again -- one purple on the right. Got to get it just right or..."

He slumped to the ground, the man's strings cut at thinking of the other children in his life that were far from their father. Moaning, Alistair dug his hands through his face and hair, "As if Spud didn't already hate the baby before, now she's going to despise Myra for years, perhaps forever. Just what I need to leave behind when I finally cross the veil, a Queen trying to get someone to carve out her step-sister's heart because Daddy was too busy playing with that baby and missed out on her drawings. I'm so bad at this."

"The Inquisitor has asked me to return, twice over now," Cullen confessed.

"You..." Alistair's head staggered up at the admittance Cullen shouldn't have spoken. "Lanny didn't mention that."

"I haven't told her," he scrunched up his eyes, barely stemming the tears threatening to fall.

"Because you're worried she'll tell you stay with her and Gavin..."

"Because I know she'd tell me to fight for thedas. After all, if they lose, if our world is lost, then there will be no living for anyone. It is a salient point," Cullen admitted, rocking back and forth on his knees to keep them from locking up.

"We've all done it. Turned our back from safety, from a warm house, from food that didn't look like bronto vomit, to hold that line."

Cullen shuddered, he came to hate that phrase. It was one shouted by people who knew there was no chance to others who believed they'd make it out. For a time he didn't think he'd find retirement to his liking. Even with Lana in his arms, duty was in his blood, but then...

"I'm tired of fighting," he said, "of rising every morning never knowing if it will be the last while the floor crumbles below me."

"Then tell him no." Alistair, the last man in thedas Cullen could stand who'd never technically done him wrong, shrugged his shoulders while offering up heartfelt advice. "I'm certain the illustrious Inquisitor Gaerwn's heard it a time or two before. Though with him you have to be really strict about it, no 'perhaps' or 'I'll think about it.' Maybe it's being raised Dalish, he missed out on all the cues of 'Look, I hate the idea but I'm trying to be polite here. Stop making it so awkward.'"

"'No,' just like that?" Cullen laughed at the simplicity of it. There were few who knew what was happening, what could happen to the very fabric of life it they didn't act.

The man staggered to his feet and tried to wipe the dirt of the deep roads from his behind. "Be with your son, spend every damn second you can tickling his toes and singing Maker awful songs for them because..." his eyes trailed over towards Reiss who was sitting beside the fire, "it's over quicker than you can imagine."

Cullen released a hand off of Lana's to grip onto Alistair's forearm. "We will free your child from the witch's curse."

It took a moment for the man to shake off the cocky smile. A strange serenity warped his features and he nodded, "I know, Lanny's on the case. But no matter what happens, the damage has already been done."

"What do you...?" Cullen asked, when a slight tremor in the tan fingers gripped inside of his drew him down to his wife. Lana swallowed deeper, her eyelids fluttering. When she gripped onto his hand, her soulful brown eyes opened. For a moment she frowned, staring at the ceiling, before trying to stagger up to stare at her husband.

"Maker's grace," he cried, lifting her fingers to his lips to kiss them, "you're awake. You're alright?" In such a tizzy he forgot to inspect her for demons, but Lana's skin wasn't splitting in half, nor was she casting anyone aside. She frowned a moment, something weighing on her mind, before she let her free hand batter against Cullen's scruff.

"Honey eyes," she whispered to him, then sat fully up to bellow, "Morrigan!"

"Lanny," Alistair got nearer to her, trepidation and curiosity both obvious, "what happened? Did you find anything? Reiss, she's awake."

"She is?" the woman stumbled to her feet, racing quickly over the furniture in the way to stare down at Lana. Cullen almost expected her to wilt a moment at all this attention, but she was nearly glaring at the witch sliding closer. Keeping one hand beside her son, Morrigan seemed to be squaring her shoulders.

Gasping, as if she was kicked in the gut, Lana pitched forward and sighed. Cullen was quick to rub across her shoulders, peering down to ask, "Are you okay? Do you need some time to...?"

"No, no," she pinched into the bridge of her nose, then her eyes turned heavenward. "Promise me there's no black city above all the rock."

"None the last I checked," he admitted.

"Well..." Alistair was impatient, leaping into the matter before Lana had a chance to find her bearings. "What happened in the fade? Was there a demon?"

"Yes," Lana said as if it were a simple matter. But she gripped tighter to Cullen's hand and he returned it, the blood leaving his cheeks. It must have been a powerful one. Barely staring at her husband, or even the father pushing for answers, Lana's gaze landed right on Morrigan, "but that wasn't the solution. Was it?"

The witch blinked her yellow eyes, seeming to be unimpressed with his wife's glare. It was Reiss who butted in next, "What of the boy? Did you find Kieran?"

"I did," she said, watching as Morrigan's eyes opened wide in surprise. The witch gasped a moment, struggling to hide her burst of emotion.

"Are you certain it was him?" Cullen put to his wife and she groaned.

"I can tell the difference between a demon posing as a human and the real deal in the fade. They glimmer strangely," Lana threw off the cuff as if it was well known information, but he'd never heard of any mage talking about glimmering demons. They were often fooled or seduced by demons, the monsters far too easily wearing the skins of loved ones.

"Glimmering demons? Are you sure you weren't fighting in a brothel? I assume the Fade has a brothel, everywhere else seems to," Alistair chirped away, needing his voice to fill the void.

Lana rolled her eyes, but it was Reiss who jabbed him in the arm, "Maker's sake, what would the fade need a brothel for? They have those boob demons floating around everywhere already."

"Boob de...oh the desire ones," he chuckled. "Damn, why didn't we call them boob demons during templar training? That may have gotten me to pay attention."

Over the snickers of people who barely understood the veil or the fade, a single voice honed in on Lana. "How is he?" Morrigan whispered.

At that his wife shuddered, her arms wrapping around herself as if she was blisteringly cold. Cullen tried to help, but she felt the same temperature as normal. Whatever frost seeped into her was touching her soul instead. After a moment Lana glanced up at Morrigan and said, "Scared. Kieran was clearly broken up, terrified, and sad...because of what you did to him."

"What she...?" Cullen whipped around, watching the witch slide ever slightly back from the group. Her fingers cupped her son's cheek as if she needed to keep him between her and the rest to save herself.

"I don't understand," Reiss said. "If you killed the demon, shouldn't he wake up? Isn't that how it works?"

"Usually. At least every time I've been involved in one of these," Alistair added, glancing over at the boy who remained as comatose as when they entered.

Lana twisted in her seat, letting her short legs dangle above the ground. At her look, Cullen shifted to the side so she could step down. For a moment her face twisted as the pain of the real world returned, but she shook it off to hobble over to Morrigan. "The demon didn't keep him trapped. It couldn't touch Kieran, but it was drawn to the source of the power that trapped the boy. A tasty treat for a pride demon. No wonder it couldn't turn down such hubris. You knew it was in there, didn't you? Could have warned me."

"I've seen you destroy far more dangerous enemies. I had every confidence in you," Morrigan snickered, but her pillar was wobbling. As tiny Lana -- who made it up to her chin -- stepped closer, Morrigan began to scamper further away.

"Make's sake, a pride demon? Lana, you had to fight off..." Cullen tried to reach for her, but she waved him away.

"If it's not the demon, then what?" Alistair honed in on the problem, his eyes narrowing back to the witch. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the King's hand drifting to the hilt on his side.

"Tell them, Morrigan," Lana sneered. "Tell the truth, for once in your existence." The witch rolled her shoulders back, stretching her thin neck long as if she was daring them to cleave her head off. She glared, but wouldn't open her mouth. Unwilling to damn herself, or incapable of it?

"She did it, she cast a spell, something to protect Kieran from an outside source, a threat. Except she got it wrong."

The self-imposed muzzle snapped and Morrigan shouted loud enough to rattle the pillars, "I did every step of the spell correctly! It had no effect upon me. How could I know it would...would trap my son in a wakeless existence?"

"Protect him from what?" Alistair stepped closer, his fingers tightening to the grip of his sword.

Morrigan sneered, "From my mother, of course. She's threatened to come for me all my life. And then my son. I couldn't let her have him, hurt him. I thought I was one step ahead of her, but then that wolf of hers started moving again. Yes, I know all about the veil and Fen'Harel. Do not act surprised. There are more people in thedas than your little Inquisition who are keeping an eye on this threat."

"Wolf? Fen'Harel? I know that word. It's one of the creators, right? A bad one, I think," Reiss spoke, at first more to herself before turning to Alistair, "What's she talking about?"

"That's kinda a long story that will take time and hand puppets to explain. Uh," he stalled as her eyes narrowed down at him. Cullen was grateful he never had to faced that withering glare. "The really short version, Fen'Harel is real, he made the veil, and now he's got it in his eggy head to destroy it. So...yup," Alistair slapped his hands together and ended in a shrug.

"The elven gods are real and you didn't tell me?!" Reiss twisted on him, the witch seeming to be forgotten. Shrinking in on himself, Alistair tried to wave for Lana to come to his rescue.

"Also, her mother was, or is, Mythal," Cullen added, earning the wrathful glare of the King. Cullen lifted one shoulder in response. She was likely to learn it soon enough; may as well get it out now.

Morrigan leaned towards Reiss and smiled, "Congratulations, your entire world has been ripped upside down. Turns out your gods are nothing more than powerful mages or spirits. Perhaps you should try worshipping a tree or rock instead."

That earned her a growl, Reiss yanking a dagger free faster than any eye caught it, "I don't give two shits for the Dalish whatevers. My life was ripped apart by you, and I'll be the one piecing it back together when I cut your cold, dead heart out from your chest." She began to advance fast on the witch, when Lana lifted her fingers and pinned Reiss in place.

"Not now," Lana massaged her weary hand into her head while releasing Reiss from the quick spell. The elven woman snarled. She didn't advance, but she didn't drop the knife either. Groaning, Lana said, "We still have yet to fix this mess."

"My son," Morrigan impressed quickly upon the only one to show her a mercy, "you said you spoke to him? What did he say?"

"He knows what you did wrong, for starters," Lana clucked her tongue at her. "So damn smart, that was always you. Aloof from everyone because we couldn't understand your level of intelligence. Could never hope to reach it as you lorded it over us. But you missed it. I have no idea what spell you cast, but I'm getting the impression it was meant to shield someone from elven mage eyes."

That caused the witch to gasp in surprise, "How did you...?"

"Oh shit," Alistair took over, his head tipping upward.

Morrigan honed in on him seeming to be a page ahead of everyone else, "You...what is going on? What is wrong with my son?"

"He's a blighted elf blood, Morrigan," Lana shrieked. "You all but cursed your own child's body to hide from itself. His mind is fractured, incapable of reforming to return to the corporeal form!"

"No," she shook her head like mad. "No that cannot be. It worked on me, and I could not have passed any..."

"It didn't come from you," Lana sneered at the witch.

Those bright yellow eyes snapped to Alistair and she all but leaped towards him, "You! You have the old blood of the elves inside you?! And you never told me!"

"Oh right, I should have told you about something I just learned myself a few years back. You know, when we were being bestest pals right before you stabbed us in the back and then ran away," he smiled and tucked his hands under his chin in an impish move before grabbing tight to the sword. "Fuck you."

"No," Morrigan trembled, leaving it hard to tell if it was from agony or fury. Perhaps both as she faced the truth that her son was dying because of her mistake, her choice. "No, this wasn't my... I had to protect him. He's my child, please..." She turned towards her only hope, her fingers grasping onto Lana's robes. Cullen moved to shrug her off, but his wife calmed him with a wave.

"Please," Morrigan begged, "you must know a way. The blood, it could still work."

"Stop," Lana begged, "stop this. Let us go, break the curse you put on the baby. Myra's more elven than human. More than likely it would only doom Kieran to the void if you used her blood."

"No!" she gasped, sliding away from Lana and turning back to her son. The tremors rattled the witch's shoulders, but she didn't cry. Her fingers tenderly swooped away the hair clinging against the young man's forehead. She focused only on his shallow breaths, the eyelids gently twitching as he was locked away inside the Fade.

"Morrigan," Lana's voice softened, "you have to let him go."

The witch didn't seem to hear her as she gazed down at the young man she'd been raising these past eighteen or so years. Raising and no doubt loving. "He's all I have in this world. You're a mother," she shouted at Lana, then turned to Reiss, "and you as well. How can you expect me to give up, to walk away from my child?!"

"Myra can't..."

"You know nothing of blood magic," Morrigan hissed. "Chantry mage, collared and beaten to swallow their rhetoric. Do not speak to me of what blood magic can and cannot do. I know things, I have seen things that you can never imagine."

In all their time together, he'd rarely seen Lana snap. When it did occur, it was almost always when she or someone she loved was in imminent danger. His wife was a gentle soul right up until the button was pushed. Morrigan just hurled a potted plant at it.

Snarling like a rabid dog, Lana launched off her toes to get right into Morrigan's face, "And I survived in the Fade for two years. Two years! The magics I've done, the magic I can command if I put one thought to it would turn your hair white. But none of that matters. Morrigan! Free Myra, stop this death curse you put her on. Let Alistair and Reiss return to their lives."

Morrigan glanced over at them, Alistair wrapping an arm around Reiss. Whether it was to protect her or stop her from gutting the witch, Cullen couldn't say. The witch seemed to soften a bit. Not much as those hard edges would never vanish, but Morrigan's sharp glare faded.

Reaching over, Lana wrapped a hand around Morrigan's fingers. She whispered, "Let your son go."

Snarling, Morrigan threw off Lana's hand and her support in one go. "Let him go?! Abandon all I've...! You," she jabbed a finger at Lana, "made a promise. A deal. I would spare the baby's life if you returned my son to me."

"For the love of the Maker, Morrigan. See reason."

"I am seeing reason. I didn't split the child's throat while you were traipsing through the fade." At that Reiss lashed forward, her arms trying to gouge out Morrigan's eyes, but this time it was Cullen who stopped her. Not to protect the witch but because his wife was in the way. In her state, it was doubtful Reiss would notice, nor stop.

Morrigan turned her backs to them, her head bent down to stare at Kieran's almost angelic face. They always looked so virtuous while sleeping, as if nothing of this world could be blamed upon their brows. "The deal stands as is. Bring me back my son, and you're free to go wherever you wish," the witch spat out.

"For the love of..." Lana snarled, "Fine! Fine I'll..." She breathed hard, huffing as if from a run before turning to Alistair. The man looked beaten, his eyes shattered at the fate of his baby blowing in the breeze. "I have some ideas. I'll need research, new research on elves. And you damn well better tell me what spell you used, all of it; etymology, history, everything you have on it."

The witch breathed a moment more, her forehead hovering close to her son's. "I shall," she said, her voice stripped. "You...you spoke to Kieran. Was there anything else he said?"

"We talked for awhile, I think he was...he's scared to face the void alone and having another voice there with him helped soothe it."

Morrigan shuddered, this one full of regrets and agony. "What did my son say?"

"He asked me about his father. Wanted to know everything I did about you, Alistair. I hope you don't mind me telling him?" Lana turned to the man whose eyes were wide with unshed tears. Slowly he shook his head in the negative at Lana, before staring towards the son he never knew.

"And," Lana swallowed hard, squaring up to face Morrigan's turned back, "Kieran told me that he forgives you for what you did to him."

A single sob erupted from the cold witch's mouth. She buried her face into her son's empty body, trying to hide the tears from the world.


	33. The Straw

The cave got colder now that every single person knew it was all Morrigan's fault. Of course the witch was acting even more cruel in response to the knowledge, doing her best to throw out a single word or phrase to cut down all of them to her level. But none of it would work. She doomed her son, and was now dooming his daughter. There was no sticking your nose up in the air after that. Alistair watched from the sides of the wash basin as Lanny all but ripped her hair out while face deep into some ancient elven tome.

How he wound up in charge of trying to get every filthy nappy sparkling white was beyond him. Was there a bet? Those always tended to end in him washing. Or if he told a joke that didn't go over well, or screamed down a well to see if the well would scream back. Maker, the Sisters never found that one hilarious. Didn't matter how many times he tried to explain it, they'd just cross their arms then point to the kitchen.

The witch staggered up from her knees and said something curt to Lanny. Barely acknowledging the words, Lanny dug back to work while Morrigan stalked off to no doubt drain the life essence of small furry woodland animals. Swallowing, Alistair wadded up the scrubbed diaper and let it hang dry off the lip of the bucket. It wasn't proper procedure, but his mind was far from them.

Like a man with a fake foot, he hobbled towards Lanny and the altar behind her. The altar holding his son. It shouldn't bother him, it wasn't as if he'd had any real say in the kid. Not in making him, certainly not in raising him. Who's to say the kid didn't turn out an exact copy of Morrigan? Sneaky and cruel because it's more fun that way.

Alistair stopped before the boy who'd begun to sprout the first real hints of facial hair above his top lip. It was true adolescent dusting, reminding him of the time he attempted it around age eighteen. Some part of it was to try and stick it to the templars who preferred their recruits clean shaven for a sense of uniformity, or because beard hair could get clogged in helmet rivets. But by day five, when all it looked like was that Alistair stuck his nose into a pot of dirt, he shaved it off and found other ways to mess with the chantry.

"You don't look much like me," he said to himself. The boy was square jawed, thin in the face still but give it a few years and he'd probably be one of those rakish mages that give young girls fits. "That was probably all your mother's doing," Alistair mused to himself before flinching.

His eyes darted over towards Lanny, but she seemed to be entranced in whatever she was reading. Maybe she found the answer. Maybe they'd all be freed today. Just have to mix up a magical potion and boom, all of Morrigan's mistakes wiped away. Once again the witch got everything she wanted and the rest of them were left to pick up the pieces alone.

Slowly, Alistair took a knee beside the boy's sleeping face. "If you thought I'd have a great opening line, you clearly don't know me very well. I admit, for a time I didn't think about you, didn't want to know if Morrigan had the baby. It was all...felt like a dream, a bad one, where you feel snakes crawling all over your skin and bugs sneaking into your ears and nostrils."

He shuddered at the thought, thinking it might be a bit too hyperbolic, until he remembered slivers of the night Alistair did his best to destroy with booze and willpower. If anything he was too kind on the comparison. Acid should probably be involved as well.

Scurrying closer, he placed a hand beside the boy's head. His hair was chestnut, not as dark as Morrigan's, and nowhere near his dusky, strawberry mop. "At least you're not a demon with giant horns, or claws. Given your mother that seemed a good possibility, but..."

The words faded as Alistair kept struggling to separate the child from the mother. It wasn't fair to Kieran and he'd come to accept the concept with time and maturity. But faced with the obstacle and after the shit his mother just pulled, it was growing harder. "I am sorry that I didn't get a chance to meet you, to know you. My father was the same, funny enough. Distant King, aware he had a bastard, but pretty much ordered everyone to pretend it didn't happen. A shame to him."

"I hate your mother, I can't deny that. Certainly think I'm well within my rights now, but..." Alistair bent his head down, trying to chew through the pounding in his heart that sometimes made him wake from a nightmare. It felt as if an ocean kept swooping in over his head, slowly drowning him until at the last moment it receded with the tide. "I don't regret you," he admitted to Kieran. Reiss would snarl for it; she made insinuations before that they should end the boy's suffering. Learning the full truth of what occurred, she considered it a mercy now.

To her he was an inconvenience. Alistair could understand it, she wanted to protect her baby, to get free of this nightmare. But he couldn't stop staring at Kieran, trying to find reflections of himself in this young man that was also his son. "If you're a good man, kind, loves kittens and puppies, I don't know. You could be prone to fits of despair, or dour as a lemon -- in which case you'd get on swimmingly with the templar over there. But I am sorry that I missed out on knowing. Even if..."

Even if Lanny pulled off the impossible, saved everyone, convinced Reiss to stand down, got Morrigan to agree to leave Ferelden for good, he'd never talk to Kieran. Certainly never come to understand this other person with his blood in him. Was that to forever be Alistair's curse? To have family within sight but always out of grasp? Maric, his brother Cailan, both dead before he came to consider reaching for them. His mother, sequestering herself away, all but making it known she wanted nothing to do with him.

The only ones he had were his kids, all three of them. Or was it four? No, that's...don't be stupid, Alistair.

"Ali," a soft hand drifted across his shoulder. He sat up quickly to find Lanny standing behind him, her eyes noting the weary tears building. "You okay?"

"Yeah, sure," he wiped a forearm across his face and staggered away from Kieran, "just peachy keen. Trapped in the deep roads with my baby, haven't seen my other kids in nearing a week. All at the whims of a witch I really thought I would never have to look upon ever again. That Maker, you think you've got Him all figured out and then woosh! Total curveball."

"I will find a solution," Lanny said, gripping tighter to his arm.

He tapped her fingers and sighed, "I know you will, you always do. It's what you're good at."

"Cullen doesn't understand," she whispered.

"Reiss neither. I mean, I think she tries to, a bit. But it's...I don't know if I understand." His son, but not his son. Made from his blood and other bits so long ago Alistair was just a kid himself. A means to an end that didn't vanish, didn't fade once the danger was passed. He was here and he was in trouble.

"Do you ever wonder," Alistair began, glancing over at Lanny, "why I agreed to it? Why I willingly went to Morrigan's room and...let her do her magic?" His lips twisted in spite, wanting to spit away the venom of thinking upon it.

Lanny's soulful eyes wandered over him, brimming with their own tears from hours of reading by weak lamplight. She reached forward for a chaste half hug and sighed, "No. I know exactly why you did it."

"Yeah," he sighed, "I guess you would. Same as me." Alistair tried to worry away a knot building in his neck, but somehow that only made things worse, "What are we going to do?"

"For now I'm researching everything Elven I can get my hands on. But, short of taking a sabbatical to the Imperium for a few years, there isn't much to go off of."

"Any word from the Inquisitor?" Alistair turned away from Kieran, trying to lock all those complicated emotions in a chest for later.

"No," she shook her head, "and I fear there will not be one."

Alistair scoffed, "Maybe if I put a little pressure. King of Ferelden asking nicely to tap into all that ancient elfy knowledge he swallowed. We could offer a few troops in return."

"I doubt that would work. They say that Gaerwn is hesitant to obey the whispers of the well these days, given the current climate. And if his old Commander cannot get him to try, I fear nothing could."

"What? Save a King's daughter and be owed a favor from an entire nation? Who turns that down?" Alistair groaned, "What's an old templar got that I haven't to entice the offer?"

Lanny snickered, "That sneer, I suspect."

"No, the Inquisitor and...the templar?" Alistair twisted his head over at Cullen who was standing with Reiss. Their children slept on unaware of the adults teaching the other how to destroy mages. She'd tried to wheedle the skills out of him, but Alistair had to tell the truth. This many years post chantry, he had no idea how to teach anyone. He could tap into his pretty much on accident or when he was really mad. Being able to get Reiss to dismantle even the simplest spell would take weeks.

But that damn templar agreed. Said that she should be able to defend herself from the witch same as the rest. It wasn't as if Alistair could argue with that logic, Reiss was dead set on her path of vengeance no matter what he did. Sometimes he was surprised she didn't set out to slit the throat of that ex-boyfriend of hers.

Reiss had a blade out, both of her hands wrapped around the grip as if in prayer, while Cullen kept circling her. He never touched her, but it was close enough Alistair would stagger up on his toes to keep an eye on them. Yeah, okay, she was right. He should probably do something about his jealousy streak.

"So your husband and the Inquisitor," Alistair tried to turn away from watching the pair sparring with their minds. It wasn't as much fun as it sounded -- requiring the recruits to sit and glare at each other until they could manage to knock one down using a mental attack. Once, Alistair got so bored during the sitting, he tipped his head forward and smashed into his sparring partner's nose. That was ten weeks in the kitchens.

Lanny, in no mood to gossip about such intriguing matters, flipped through her books instead, "I want to find an answer. I need to find an answer but... Maker's breath, this would all be so much simpler if Morrigan had drunk from the well."

"Maybe she'd be stuck somewhere dancing for Flemeth's amusement. An eternity on her mother's leash," Alistair mused to himself. "Maker, that's a lovely thought."

"I meant because she'd have knowledge of how to reverse this damage. Or wouldn't have attempted the spell in the first place. Andraste's ass, it's as if he's missing a quarter of himself. No one can survive like that, and I..." she shuddered, her hands gripping tight to her cane as her shoulders slumped forward.

"Lanny," Alistair patted her back, "what if you can't save him? What's our plan B?"

Her eyes cracked, heartbreak shining in them. She hadn't considered it. Hadn't thought for a single moment that in all of this she'd have to be the one to put an end to Kieran, perhaps to Morrigan as well. "I don't know, Ali," she whispered, "I don't know anything anymore."

Alistair wanted to hug her, to tell her it would be okay even while both knew it was a lie, when a wave of power undulated through the air. It knocked Lanny back, and instinctively Alistair gripped onto her hands to keep her on her feet. "Maker's sake, what was...?" was as far as he got before he recognized the signs of a holy smite dissipating in the air.

Turning to ask the two combatants, a cry erupted from the sleeping bundle hidden under a blanket. Another joined in, both babies feeling the same buildup of pressure and none too happy about it. Reiss unfolded her hands and the sword scattered to the ground. "Myra, baby," she dashed towards their daughter to scoop her up, "I'm so sorry. Shh...that's not meant to hurt you."

His little Wheaty's big green eyes dripped even bigger tears as she stuffed her fist into her mouth. She gazed around, the wails lowering in pitch but not stopping entirely. Cullen tucked up his son, Gavin fading back to normal quicker from the blast, but he had a furrowed brow of concern. Tan hands patted against his father's cheeks as if asking what in the Maker's name he thought he was doing.

Reiss was still beside herself, surprised at the power she could unleash. "You're not supposed to be hurt," she said to Myra, patting against their daughter's back.

Beside him, Lanny snapped rigid, her eyes swiveling back to Kieran stretched out on his death bed. "But one of us will be," she sighed, "no matter what."

"Lanny...?"

"I should return to work. If there's news from the Inquisitor..." she limped back to the desk that all but held her captive. It was a wonder Morrigan didn't chain her leg to it.

"You'll be the first to know," Alistair promised, bowing his head. Before he left her to it, he glanced over at Kieran, his son in what seemed to be name only, and the pit grew wider in his stomach.

 

* * *

 

 

The bandage was wrapped tight enough around her fingers to cut off circulation, but Reiss kept constricting it. Yank it back harder until her skin puffed through the gaps like over-proofed dough. It was a distraction much better than the other one wandering beyond the edge of sight. The witch was smart to keep far away, but Reiss could feel her snicker and hear her condescension with every attempt of the elven woman to try to throw a templar skill.

"That's probably enough," Cullen glanced over from whatever minor traps he'd been laying. It was her job to disarm them, to sense the source of magic and tug it free. Reiss couldn't even spot them, never mind dispel shit. Her baby's life was on the line and all she could do was stand back and wait for someone else to handle it. It was crap, all of it.

She stopped tugging on the bandage to glare up at the altar Morrigan placed her son on. Almost as if he was the next savior of thedas and they were all to bow down to him. Or a sacrifice, stretched out before the next god to come falling out of the fade. It seemed to be one in the same anymore. Giant threat arises to doom them all and someone plucked from obscurity rises up to fight it off. Rinse and repeat every few years.

"If you require a break," the Commander spoke again, drawing her attention away from the witch drifting near his wife.

Reiss wanted to insist she was fine, that she'd get the hang of this soon, but her eyes drilled into Morrigan. Her fault. She didn't just kidnap Myra, curse her, threaten to spill her blood for her own reasons. No, she did the same to her own son. In some mad quest to do Maker knows what evil thing, she trapped him, doomed him. Same as everyone else down here.

"This is bullshit," Reiss snarled, forgetting whose company she was in.

The Commander, however, didn't blanch at her filthy mouth. His amber eyes narrowed down upon the witch and he snarled, "I agree."

"It's her doing, all of it. We should..."

His hand cupped her shoulder, the touch light but soldiery, as if he was trying to pass years of battalion camaraderie through it. "We have to put faith in Lana," Cullen tried to force a smile, but it didn't take. He turned to stare up at his wife who looked more haggard with every day. No one wanted to talk about it, because what could they say? Hey, you're starting to look terrible. Maybe you should take a break, oh wait, now we're all trapped here even longer. Never mind.

"Do you think she'll...?" Reiss began before shaking the thought away. What was the point? Either she would or she wouldn't, then it was back to fighting off a witch and a ticking clock. "I've never wished for magic in my family more than I do right now," she groaned sinking to her weary knees.

Myra sat inside their little playpen trap that Cullen devised. He was surprisingly good at finding ways to keep the babies penned in but safe. All those years as a templar? She wanted to ask if they'd had to deal with babies and children while in the chantry's service, but something in his sullen gaze warned her to hold her tongue. He was quick but cautious about it all, as if continually uncertain about everything when it came to his son.

For now Gavin was tuckered out, still down for the nap Myra rose from a good hour ago. He was shorter than her child, but something told Reiss that wasn't going to last forever. Far too much of the father in him, in both of them. Her baby, her beautiful little girl, was chewing on a wooden toy the guards unearthed from somewhere. It was all they had, the kids having to share. Surprisingly, both caught on to the idea quickly, often passing it back and forth to let the other play with it.

Every once in awhile Myra would glance over at her fellow child trapped in this abyss, as if she was waiting for him to hurry and wake up. They were going to miss each other when this was over. If this ever finished.

Reiss reached into the playpen to cup her hands around her daughter. In no mood to get out, Myra knocked the wooden toy into them for a moment, then ran her sharp nails over Reiss' skin. "If I had magic, I could end this, all of it," she whispered to her daughter.

"Be careful thinking such matters," Cullen suddenly loomed closer behind her. "Blood magic is..."

"A curse upon the Maker, I know," she was losing her cool, that armor she always wore long shattered thanks to exhaustion and fear. "But so's stealing a mother's child. People who say one wrong won't solve another have never had their back against the wall."

"If you are considering asking my wife to--" he began, his voice low and threatening like loose gravel on a hill.

Reiss spun away from her baby to interrupt, "No, no, it's my daughter, my curse to make. Not that it matters either way. I can't even see whatever you did over there. I can't break apart magic, never mind create it from thin air."

He thawed, but the edge remained, like a blade frozen inside a glacier. None of them were going to step back until they were free of this Maker awful place. "Do not give up hope, there is some room left to fight. Sometimes that's all a soldier needs."

"I can see why you left all the speeches to Addley, Ser," Reiss snickered, turning to him.

That caused him to blush a moment, his head rolling away as if she caught him on some major secret. The investigator inside wanted to dive deeper, but he turned towards his wife, who was hobbling towards them. Always quick to her side, Cullen abandoned his pupil to assist the only hope they had left, the only hope they ever had.

"Is he still out?" Lana asked peering down at her son. "Maker's breath, that's near on half the day."

"I know," the father added back, "tonight shall be never ending. Perhaps we should wake him."

"And face down that sour puss? He's worse than you when woken from a nap," she scoffed, causing Cullen to softly scowl, a very close copy to the look Gavin would pull when annoyed. That boy wouldn't have to explain who his father was very often as he grew. Would the same be true for Myra?

"What have you learned?" Reiss interrupted their little parental moment. She staggered away from her knees and her daughter. Turning, she spotted Alistair joining in the group, his arms crossed.

"Not much, I'm afraid. I can barely understand the baseline of the spell. It's...it seemed to be an ancient tevinter protection one, from the days of the early early Imperium. But, that's not right either. I think it may have been one devised to turn away the eyes of the Evanuris, essentially blind the old slaves or rebels from their gods. No idea if it worked, but the Tevinter mages altered it, turned it to work upon humans."

Lana sounded fascinated by it all, this ancient knowledge that no one should possess. It nearly ripped the world apart thanks to Corypheus. And now, it could be the death of Reiss' child. "So how do you reverse it?"

"I...have no idea. Spells this complex can't be broken apart. It's not like scratching old words off of vellum. They have to be deconstructed first. And in order to do that I have to understand it."

"Lanny," Alistair drifted closer to Reiss, a hand curling around her waist as he held her tight. She could sense the question neither of them wanted to ask. "How long would that take?"

"I have no..."

"Give us an estimate," he threw out with a stressed voice, both of them needing an answer. A few more weeks they could work with, a month might be a stretch, but anything beyond and it was impossible.

"If, if I can get a successful test run of a basic version then I can start walking it back to--."

"Maker's breath, Lana. No one here cares about the mechanics," her husband spoke sharply. She didn't inhale at the jab but her eyes darted to him in surprise. "We need the truth. We need a real plan."

"A year," she confessed, "perhaps more."

There it was. Reiss rounded down to stare at Myra, her baby unaware of an entire world out there passing them by. Alistair couldn't lose a year down here, the kingdom wouldn't allow it. Nor would he stay away from his other children that long. And if she stayed, her agency, her work was doomed. Assuming it wasn't already fully underwater or burnt to the ground. Lunet sent a missive promising everything was just fine, but Reiss knew that could be a lie for her sake.

"Reiss," Alistair's fingers crested across her spine, his voice cracking in pain. She didn't look up at him because she knew what he'd choose. They'd stay, they'd find some way to appease the witch in order to save the boy. But Reiss wouldn't do it. Stalling, giving the Hero time to try and find a cure only stoked the fires inside of her. Her blood rage didn't lessen over the days, it remained percolating behind her eyes and she intended to finish this.

"You know what we have to do," she said, her eyes on their baby.

"And risk Wheaty?" he groaned back, a hand tearing up his hair.

"Fuck Morrigan and her kid, cure the curse she put on Myra instead," Reiss turned to Lana who paled at the attention. She began to scoot backwards with her cane, but bumped into her husband who refused to move.

"I told you, I can't. If I could, I would have already."

"Really?" Reiss rounded on her, tired of crying, tired of begging, tired of hoping. All she wanted was action, an answer to the never ending questions. "Because you're sure as shit quick to leap to the kid's side. To put your all into healing him. What about my baby? Or have you been lying this whole time about blood magic being the only thing to break it?"

"Be careful of what you accuse me of," she hissed back, her hand lifting. No doubt she was doing something magical, but Reiss could barely taste it.

"It's no secret that you and this witch are friends. And you owe her a debt, right? You'd be dead if not for her and the brat. Why not lie?"

"Knock it off!" It was Alistair who lashed out, his hand gripping onto her arm to stop her from doing something stupid. "You're not helping anything right now by accusing Lanny of shit."

"Don't you want to get out of here? To walk free with your daughter knowing she's safe?" Reiss' voice cracked, feeling completely alone in this.

He reached forward to wrap his arms around her. With her head nestled against his chest, the tears began. She was so tired of feeling vulnerable, of never knowing if her heart could keep going or if it would finally crumble away. Alistair buried his chin into her bun, his lips whispering into the golden hair, "I get it, we're all at the breaking point, but turning on each other isn't going to help. We need a plan, a real, workable one. Do you have anything, Cullen?"

"Maybe," the Commander stepped forward a moment, "an idea, that..."

Alistair's head shot up off of Reiss' bun, his eyes hunting through the cavern as if he spotted a shadow. When she turned, Reiss saw the Hero doing the same. With her lips pulled back tight against her teeth, Lana looked like a cat in full hiss about to swat at whatever was threatening it. Cullen reached towards his wife, trying to get her attention with a, "Lana?"

On cue, both Alistair and Lana's heads pivoted right to the far wall. Rock exploded inward towards them, crumbling to reveal a hole filling quickly with darkspawn.

"Shit!" Alistair shouted. Reiss slipped away from him, both fumbling for their swords. Hurlocks swarmed out, their weapons at the ready while scrabbling over fallen rocks and debris. They lashed their tongues against the air, gibbering in what passed for darkspawn language, when ice blanketed against the first line. Frosted white, the darkspawn behind shattered through their peers while leaping towards the unprepared people.

Alistair was first to lunge towards them, his sword dicing into a hurlock's skull as if it was made of butter. The second took more work, its blade slicking towards the unarmored man but he managed to dodge it before slicing the throat. That was enough time for a spell to whip over Alistair's head and shatter more ice across the darkspawn. With two lines down, the horde paused a moment, eyeing up what they must have thought would be an easy kill.

"Maker damn it," Lana cursed, her eyes glowing white as she twisted a ball of energy on her fingers. "Cullen, grab Gavin. Protect him."

"You too, Reiss," Alistair turned over his shoulder to look at her.

"By the void I will. I can fight same as you."

Despite the line of darkspawn barely being held by the mage's sheet of ice, Alistair ran back to her and hissed, "Look, I know you're scary and awesome, but the absolute last thing I want to think about is you getting the blight, okay. It's bad, not fun, wouldn't recommend the tainted thing. So please, watch over Myra."

She gasped, having been prepared to fight him off and the horde, but at the pleading in his eyes Reiss backed down. "Okay," she sheathed her sword and reached into the pen to snatch up Myra. Her baby wasn't happy about being interrupted, but the tears froze into wide shock at the sight of darkspawn cracking through the ice.

Holding her breath, Reiss watched in terror as the darkspawn continued to whack below the cracking ice. It wouldn't be long now until they broke free, leaving all of two people to take them down.

Alistair slid in beside Lana, his sword at the ready while he secured his old shield on over the arm. "Figure they sensed us?" he casually asked her as if they were waiting for a wagon and not certain death.

She grimly nodded a moment before staring at the man. "Us? What do you mean us? When in the blighted hell did the taint come back into you?"

"A, uh, few...months ago. I was going to say something but we were kinda busy. Babies and all, lot of work, right?" He sang, jerking his head back towards the pair of non-grey wardens doing their best to not panic.

Lana sneered, "Fine, but we are going to have a talk about the importance of data and oh yeah, not facing the pain of a damn joining while alone."

"Yes mother," he groaned, shifting tighter into form. "They're coming through."

"I know."

"Any second now."

Lana groaned, her spell breaking down against the force of the darkspawn, "I know!" Her cry broke the air just as the ice shattered into a billion pieces. This was no hammering of pommels and hands against the thick ice, it was magic. Strong magic.

"Shit, Emissary," Alistair shouted first, already running headlong into the horde.

"Cullen, get the kids out of here, now!" Lana ordered. He tightened up beside Reiss, wishing to do something to help, but both of their arms were overflowing with wiggly babies.

Whipping her head back to the battle, Lana met the Emissary magic for magic. Whatever she'd been building on her fingers shattered against the darkspawn's casting. It didn't hurt the creature, but it did dissipate its own attack. That was enough for Alistair, the man in full soldier mode as he bashed into a hurlock's head and rose upward to stab down at the Emissary. He almost got in, when a blast sent the man hurling through the air.

"No!" Reiss shrieked, trying to run forward when a hand clamped onto her.

She whipped her head into Cullen's eyes, "They're right, we need to protect the children first. Come on." Like useless fools, they both turned from the battle, running back towards the room that used to house the forge. "The walls are thick here, no way darkspawn could breach them. And there's one door. One way in."

Myra began to cry, the girl having watched her daddy being tossed about like a rag doll before they turned and ran like cowards. "I'm sorry," Reiss whispered to her child, brushing her cheek against the baby's forehead. In the distance all they could hear was the sounds of battle, neither knowing whose sword was hitting metal and whose meat. On occasion a few human sounding 'ah ha's' and 'got ya now' drifted through, but just as many 'shit shit shitting shit' and 'owe, that one hurt' struck as well.

Clinging tight to her child, Reiss had to fight against herself to keep from running back to help. Maker's sake, if she lost Alistair because she hid away like a coward... Tears dripped onto her baby's head, Myra trying to bat them away while she frowned at her mother for getting her wet. Reiss tried to apologize again, when she glanced up to find Cullen glaring through the wall. He looked like a man who was watching his home burn to ash while he stood holding an empty bucket. Through the fight sounds and cries of exhaustion, the pair of them shared a silent look, passing the same fears of what loving a Grey Warden truly meant.

Over the noise came an obvious cry of Lana's, exhausted and pained, "I hate Emissaries!"

The Commander stepped forward to drop Gavin into Reiss' already full arms, "Here."

"What are you doing?" she shouted, struggling to juggle both babies while watching the man unsheathe his sword.

"I can stop the creature's magic," he explained, reminding Reiss how pointless she was amongst them all. Wardens, templars, mages, and an elf who could get really mad sometimes.

He nodded, clearly planning on nothing stopping him, when she said, "Your wife's gonna kill you."

For a moment Cullen paused and whispered, "Better she's alive to do it then." Reiss could try to stop him, but, better three be out there fighting instead of two. Watching the man vanish out the door, Gavin began to fuss at the loss of both of his parents.

"Shush," she tried to calm the babies. With any luck, the others were keeping the horde busy, too busy to care about a couple of children and their nanny. Myra gave in pretty quickly, but Gavin wasn't happy. His wails grew from grumbles to full on tantrum levels, neither of the people he loved most in the world rushing in to answer them.

"Please stop. Your mummy and daddy are busy, but they'll be back. Once the bad men are gone." Three people fighting a horde. And where in all of this was Morrigan? Reiss sneered, probably whisking her comatose son off to safety, as if there was anything in there worth saving. She'd let all of them die to preserve her moral high ground.

More sounds of battle echoed from outside, but it seemed as if the tide was turning. She couldn't be certain which way, but she was hoping beyond belief. "Gavin," Reiss tried to bounce him, but with her arms full there was no way she could manage. "You have to stop crying or..."

A grey head dashed past the entrance.

_Fuck._

Reiss fell deeper into the room, hoping it'd miss her among the shadows, but the baby wouldn't stop making unholy noises. "Shh..." she tried, watching in terror as the grey head turned in the doorway and the darkspawn honed in on three easy targets.

It twisted its head like an undead bird, pivoting unnaturally to understand what was before it while dragging a broken leg. Sweet Maker, even that horribly injured it kept going. What were these things?! Reiss had two options, drop the children and try to unsheathe her sword in time, or dodge its first swing and try to run past. Both had about the same failure rate. Her panicking brain kept her sliding backwards until she smacked right into the wall.

At the sound of her heels scrabbling to climb it, the hurlock grinned, its razor teeth oozing with blood and white mucus. Even at this distance, the stench kicked right into her gut; Reiss struggling to not vomit. It wasn't death, but the remains of it -- weeks, perhaps months old, when a body was more soup than anything that was once alive. Raising its sword up, the hurlock prepared to strike a blow.

Out of options, Reiss spun on her heels to face the wall. The kids would be protected from her body while she took the blows. Tensing up, she prepared for the hack against her shoulders or spine. It'd be bad, might kill her, might paralyze her, but she'd buy time for the others to come and save the babies.

The hurlock gibbered and she felt the air of the sword rushing forward, when out of nowhere a force rocketed through the air itself. Reiss flattened into the wall as a body stood where she had been. "What the...?" Shooting a look over her shoulders, she spotted Morrigan standing there. The hurlock's blade bit into her upper arm and then stopped as if the witch's skin suddenly turned to stone. Glancing down at it, the woman sneered and then blew magic back at the creature.

It screamed as if its skin was on fire, even though no flames erupted. The creature dropped to the ground while the flesh began to melt off of its bones, pieces peeling free like bark off of a birch tree. _Maker's breath!_ Reiss twisted back to the wall to protect the children from a horrific sight until the shrieking stopped. When she turned back, there was only Morrigan glancing at the gash to her arm.

Sensing eyes on her, the witch looked up at the elf and nodded once. Reiss' mouth ran dry, but she returned the nod of thanks. If the witch hadn't stepped in, she'd be dead.

If the witch hadn't stolen her baby, they wouldn't be here.

"We should return to the others," Morrigan said. The witch didn't argue, or make any suggestions Reiss remain in place. She took the lead, easily climbing over dead darkspawn to reveal a battlefield emptied of almost everything. A few hurlocks remained, Alistair approaching carefully while Lana -- crouched behind a pillar and firing off magic when safe -- cast purple bolts at them.

Growling, Cullen jogged up to the last hurlocks, and -- with his sword -- cleaved off both heads. Black blood spurted from the scissored spines, but he was quick to turn from it and slide away.

"Is that the last of them?" Lana asked, sliding out of her perch to inspect the room where they'd been living for the past week. It was an abattoir's kill floor now.

"It is," Morrigan shouted, drawing all the eyes to first her, then the woman behind.

"Maker's breath," Cullen gasped, the sword clattering from his hands as he turned to his son who finally stopped crying at the sound of his father.

Alistair was digging a palm into his side but there was no crimson blood, hopefully just a cramp. He glanced up from the floor to catch Reiss' eye and both said the same prayer of thanks for the other staying alive. Unaware of anything wrong, Myra began to bounce in Reiss' arms, wanting to get down. Like that was going to happen while darkspawn blood seeped into every stone.

"We should close the tunnel up," Morrigan said, lifting her hands. "Lana?"

Hobbling out towards her, the Warden followed suit and together both blasted magic at the exploded tunnel until it collapsed, rocks sealing off the entrance where darkspawn nearly ended them all. The last spell must have been too much for her as Lana collapsed to her knees. For a brief respite, the witch seemed to show pity, but it was Cullen who leaped through blood to rush to his wife's side.

His sword splattered into the darkspawn ichor as he scooped Lana into his arms, the woman looking drained beyond measure. Even with her seeming to be near death, she patted his cheeks and sighed, "Don't think I'm going to let you off for disobeying my orders just because you're really cute." He butted his head against hers, the pair breathing softly together.

Reiss tried to reach over towards Alistair, but he rose out of his cramp lean to met her, and Myra, and the tag-a-long Gavin. "I swear to the Maker, if you ever make me stay out of a fight again..."

"Next one, I stay behind with the baby, you go rushing headlong in," he giggled, tears welling in his eyes as he wrapped his blood soaked arms around her. "I promise with all my heart."

"Are you...?" she hated to ask it, to wonder while she was cowering with their child if he was injured.

"No," Alistair shook his head, "a few close calls, but...seems I'm still somewhat capable of fighting. Right, fellow Warden?" he waved at Lana who remained held tight in her husband's arms.

"Do not think I have forgotten about you keeping your taint from me," she waved her cane as if she intended to bash Alistair for his offense.

He rolled his goofy eyes, in full fluff mode with the danger past, "Since when do women like to hear about my taint?"

"Morrigan is hurt," Reiss said, drawing all the eyes to the witch who cupped a hand around the wound on her arm.

Those yellow eyes narrowed down on Reiss, the one she'd taken a blade for, before turning to Lana, "Tis nothing more than a scratch at most. We have greater problems to solve."

"Not if you could have the blight," Lana groaned, already returning to the ground and somehow managing to hobble towards the witch. She rolled her hands against the witch's thick hide, the air sparkling like a crisp mountain morning.

So close to her, Morrigan almost smiled at this old friend she all but imprisoned in this darkspawn filled hell. "You never could cease helping people."

"Not even the ones who told me to regularly piss off," she snickered.

_Why did she do it? Why did the witch take a blade for her?_

Reiss wanted to convince herself it was because her only hope to save Kieran was clutched in Reiss' hands, and if she was cut down so could Myra. But that didn't hold much water. Morrigan could have waited until Reiss died, until they were all busy trying to keep her alive to notice the cruel and wicked witch run off with the baby to save her own. Then what was the purpose? Why risk her own hide to save someone she didn't know?

Those yellow eyes struck hers and slightly narrowed.

Because now Reiss owed her a favor.

Or so Morrigan imagined. Too bad for the witch Reiss wasn't trained in the chivalrous code of knights and templars. As far as Reiss was concerned Morrigan would have to take a blade right in the heart to make up for what she did.

Wiggling drew Reiss to her baby who was still doing her damnedest to get out of her arms. "Alistair, can you take her before she drops onto darkspawn blood?"

"Silly kid," he swooped her up high above his head and then blew a few raspberries on her exposed stomach. "You don't want to drink that stuff, believe me, I know. It's no fun." Myra giggled a bit at her father's attention but her true heart's desire was to get down and play.

_Where?_

There were bodies everywhere, toxic blood, gore. It would all have to be scrubbed before anything could be used, or burned on principle. And even then, it would only hold until the next attack. If the darkspawn knew they were here then...

"We can't stay here," Reiss said, drawing every eye to her. She blinked a moment, realizing it was more aloud than she meant. "It's true. You said the darkspawn sense Wardens, right? Two of you together..."

"I had been trying to mask myself but without knowing Alistair had also regained his taint status," Lana shot a withering look at him, "I hadn't bothered before, but will now."

"So what?" Reiss continued. "So there's less of a chance that we'll have these monsters come tearing through the walls and obliterate us in our sleep. It's still a chance. What if Gavin had been by that wall when it exploded?"

"Reiss, that isn't..."

"No," Cullen stepped towards her and scooped his son up in his arms. For a moment he bumped the end of his nose into his boy's before turning back on the group. "She's right. This is a war of attrition, and soon or later everyone loses those." He stared at his wife, the son at risk cuddling tighter into his arms while she healed the woman who began all of this.

Lana jerked her head at her husband, before turning towards Alistair, "You've got this with me, right Ali? We have ways, we've gotten through the deep roads before. It's..."

Reiss expected Alistair to crumble, to either half agree with the Hero or mumble something incoherently as an answer. His eyes hunted across the pools of black blood, the normally soft brown irises almost pitch dark from the reflection. "I'm no Warden, Lanny. I was in it, for what, a year and a half? You're the only one here who's done the proper deep roading. And you haven't in nearly a decade."

Stumbling towards her, with the baby at the heart of this in his hands, he reached over towards Lana, "Staying here any longer could kill us all."

Lana reached over with her fingers that looked swollen and red from either the magic or being whacked by darkspawn weapons. Gently, she skirted up and down Myra's chubby leg, the girl giggling at the contact. The baby's laugh, so foreign in this abode of despair, seemed to strike her to the core. "That's..."

"A problem you shall have to find an answer to," Morrigan spoke up, her chin jutting out. "My son remains trapped in his endless sleep."

At that, Alistair all but leapt into the witch's face, a hand trying to tear his hair free, "I swear to the Maker, right now I want to flat out smash your nose in. To grab up one of those darkspawn swords, dip it in the blood, and cut it across your arm. How would you like that, Morrigan? To put yourself on a ticking fuse, waiting to see how long until death finally drags your rotting soul across the veil to dump down the void."

It was his son too who could die. He never talked about it with Reiss, but it was obvious that the idea of Kieran passing on without him helping was eating away at Alistair. Yet now Reiss could see it in Alistair's face. He would let the boy die, would turn his back on him because he was trying to fight for all of them.

Morrigan's beady yellow eyes drifted over the carnage, her heart no doubt pure ice inside her despicable chest. "That was the deal. I will honor my word, if you will honor yours." She didn't look at the baby she'd cursed, didn't stare at the father she was destroying, or even glance at the mother she'd both doomed and saved. No, Morrigan only had eyes for Lana -- the mage that was her last hope. But the Hero was too busy staring at her own hands to look back.

Turning on her heel, Morrigan limped back to her son. Lana wrapped herself around her husband, burying her lips to Gavin's forehead as she whispered prayers. Joining in with her, Cullen tried to block them off from everyone else with his body. He curled an arm around his wife, trying to create a sanctuary for his little family, but even Reiss could feel a chill in the air. Cullen buried his chin in Lana's hair, but his eye wandered over to Reiss. Nodding imperceptibly, she knew what that meant. Things had to change, one way or another.

"So," Alistair sighed, dropping Myra back into Reiss' arms, "I guess this means I'd better get a sponge."

* * *


	34. Choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I don't have a fluffy chapter for my birthday, but the story's in no mood for that.

Lana tried to focus on her books -- she had to do this -- but her eyes kept darting up to Alistair on his hands and knees scrubbing away darkspawn blood. The King of Ferelden was doing it to protect his daughter, who should be back at home playing with her toys and not at risk to catch the blight or worse. Reiss took Myra off to a side room for a nap, and because they couldn't trust their kids anywhere near the dead bodies. Not until it was all cleaned up.

She was exhausted, they all were, but Lana spent everything inside of her on that fight. The magic she could tap into was thedas shattering, but her body grew weaker with every passing day. She never said it, but she wondered how long it would be until she couldn't get out of bed period. Healing magic could only work so far, and today she was at her limits, but they needed her. Alistair and Myra to find a cure. Gavin and Cullen so they could go home. Kieran so he could live.

"We need to talk about this."

"Maker's sake," Lana slammed the book shut and buried the palms of her hands into her eyes. She knew it was coming, but she hoped Cullen would hold off for at least a few hours. They'd barely started clean up.

"No," he gripped onto her wrist, not hard, but the touch was enough to cause Lana to sit up fast and glare at him, "No tossing me away. No acting as if I can't understand because it's a mage matter or a warden issue. Take a look out there, Lana. Look at what just happened."

Cullen jerked his hand out at the massacre and she tried to follow, but she was caught by the baby in his arms. Secure with his father back to hold him, Gavin was happily staring in wonder at the feathers and papers across Lana's desk. She'd often tickle him with quills at home, her little boy giggling like mad and wanting to chew on them.

"Look!" Cullen shouted, shaking her from her son.

"I know," Lana sobbed. "I blighted well know what darkspawn are, what they do, what they're capable of, and what this means. Yes, better than you."

"We cannot stay here," he said, his eyes darting down to the curly head of his son. The boy he'd worked so hard to come to love. Now that Gavin was locked in that cautious heart, Cullen was even more of a lion about his cub than he'd ever been before. "Our son is at risk..."

"What would you have of me?" Lana shrieked. "Please, tell me what to do. I am so Maker damn tired of all the cursed decisions landing on me. You were a Commander, so fine, command me. Tell me what spell to cast, what incantation to divine to make everything better because I'm damn well listening!" Tears burned in her eyes, and it felt as if her weary flesh was falling off in chunks. Exhausted and broken, the raw nub of Lana's soul was left exposed. She had barely slept down here between fear of failure and continual worry. With every mouth breathing down her neck for the past week praying for a cure to come springing out of her ass, it was finally time for her to snap.

Cullen winced a moment at the tears, but he didn't waver from his crusade. He never did. "We leave," he stated as if it was so simple.

"Then Myra dies," Lana sniffled. She didn't want to cry, not in front of her baby and, Maker's sake, certainly not in front of Morrigan. The woman was sitting beside Kieran doing her best to not look over at the fight, not that anyone couldn't hear it.

Cullen glanced over at the witch a moment before whispering in code, "Not necessarily."

"Then Kieran dies. No matter what I do, what choice you put to me, someone's child dies! How can I...? You cannot ask that of me. Blessed Andraste, I couldn't kill a child that was possessed. And now...? Now you want me to callously choose between, no, no, I can't. I..."

"Lana," he grabbed onto her hands, trying to get her to look at him, "Gavin could have died."

She stopped crying, her eyes darting over to her boy. He looked untouched, as if the greatest horrors against the Maker in thedas couldn't hurt him. How she wished that were true.

Cullen gasped and wrapped an arm around to tug her to him, "You could have died. I can't handle this anymore. Please, just...do this for me. I'm asking you, as your husband, as the father of your son, as the man who loves you so much it pisses me off sometimes, let us leave."

The exhaustion was killing him, little by little. The fear and hatred of mages he thought he'd walked back kept seeping back in. She'd catch it on occasion; Cullen cursing magic in general, clearly aiming it at Morrigan as if none of it would leap back onto his wife. Being here was tearing him apart, the threats to his son -- the one person in thedas he should most protect -- never ending. Tearing them all apart. Alistair had his other kids, the kingdom, Reiss her work. Myra was no better off than Gavin in this dark hole surrounded by death.

Sucking in a breath, Lana tipped her head down, "You're right."

Shocked, Cullen staggered back a moment as if he'd been preparing another speech. "I am...? You mean it, you'll--."

"You don't belong here," Lana tried to drain the emotion in her body, she had to be strong. "You and Gavin should leave."

"What?" Cullen gasped as if she slapped him, "Lana, no, that's not what I..."

She could see it, the only logical path left to her. Morrigan wasn't going to budge, but she needed time. Time none of them could afford to waste down here, none of them but her. "Go home, be safe, check on our patients."

"You can't be serious," he continued, trying to get her to look at him.

"If you stay here, someone will die. I'll pledge myself to Morrigan. If she releases Myra and lets you all go, then I will remain caring for Kieran until a cure is found. As long as it takes," she turned in her seat to stare over at the witch. Morrigan didn't look up, but she knew she heard her promise. It was the best the woman was likely to get after this last disaster.

"No," Cullen shouted, "no, I forbid it."

She curled her hands into fists, wanting to shout that she wasn't one of his underlings he could order around. But getting angry wouldn't help, someone had to have a cool head about this. Reaching out, Lana tried to dart her fingers over his face, "Cullen..."

"Don't Cullen me," he snarled. "This is your son! You would...you cannot seriously be thinking of leaving me alone for a year! Or even longer. Maker knows if it's even possible for you to save that boy. You could be lost to us for, there's no promising you'd even return!"

"Gavin is," Lana swallowed, almost being bowled over by the thought she about to speak, "he is very young. It is unlikely that he will remember me."

"Can you hear yourself?!" he screamed, his eyes flaring to a terrifying amber glare.

"Please, this is--."

"You would give up your family, give up on me, on our boy for what? To save a witch's son because...because you promised to? Why?"

"Because I would be dead if it weren't for him!" Lana screamed, hopping up to her feet. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she cried out every pang in her heart, "I've been living on borrowed time for half of my life. If it weren't for Kieran, for Morrigan, I'd be dead, ashes on the wind. You'd never have known me, not like this, not have loved me, married me. We wouldn't have a child together. Dead!"

Cullen was stunned by her response, his eyes widening as she hammered home the duty she felt to the young man. Every breath Lana took, every heartbeat was extra to what she'd been granted, a gift. One she never forgot. "And you'd..." he snarled, snapping back from her outburst and turning to Morrigan, "Witch!"

 _Maker's sake, no._ Lana tried to reach over to stop him, but Cullen was marching towards Morrigan about to make it all worse. "You act as if she is your friend. Lana Amell, the Warden as you keep calling her. She's it, isn't she? There's no one else in all of thedas who can put up with you vitriol, or your acidic tongue, but her. And you...you'd tear her away from her son. From her child when he needs her most of all. What kind of mother are you?"

Morrigan lifted her head but didn't turn to him. For a brief flicker her yellow eyes landed on Lana, but she didn't look up. Her heart was crumbling in her chest while her husband tried to argue against the void to save it.

"Is that your idea of love? Of friendship? Look at what I'm saying, you were the one to kill your son anyway. What could you possibly care if you destroy another family? It's not you or yours. That's all that matters to you."

Hissing, Morrigan launched up to her legs and sneered, "You do not know me, Templar, and shall never claim the right."

Lana feared she'd have to keep them off each other, but Morrigan walked away. She didn't scamper, her spine straight as a board, but for a moment she glanced back at Lana and the baby in Cullen's arms.

Sucking in a breath, Lana dipped her head down to face the desk, "There is no other answer."

"No," Cullen lashed a hand forward, grabbing onto her arm, "Lana, you can't just..."

Slowly she sat back in the chair and yanked out a quill. In a voice as cold as the frostback air, she said, "I've made my choice. Leave me to it, please."

"Maker's sake," he snarled at her stubbornness but turned to do as she asked. Hugging Gavin tighter to his chest, Cullen left to find a room to sit and no doubt curse her name in. As her family vanished from sight, Lana risked a glance up at her little boy, his chubby hands waving back at his mother. That may be the last time she ever saw him again.

Shaking it off, she tried to focus on the book below her, but drops of rain kept getting in the way.

 

* * *

 

Getting as far from the darkspawn bodies as she could, Reiss stumbled into what had been her and Alistair's sleeping quarters. She wanted to flop face first onto the bed and scream into it for a few hours, but her baby had other pressing needs. Patting Myra's straining diaper, Reiss sighed.

"I can't blame you for craping your pants after that, but..." Placing Myra down on her back and removing the filthy diaper, she began to reach for a fresh one, when her baby tried to scoot along the bed. It'd happen often during changes, Myra needing something to keep herself entertained with and found scooting her bare bottom along the table fascinating. But this time she managed to really dig her heels in and was moving fast towards the edge of the bed.

"Hey!" Reiss dashed forward quickly, a hand cupping under her little daredevil's head to keep her from falling off. Big green eyes darted up at her mother and she cracked into a giggle at the fun game. "Maker's blighted sake, do you have to act so much like your father?"

Myra found that even funnier, both hands flailing at her mum's hilarious joke. She was unperturbed, as if the past few hours with darkspawn attacks were little more than a fun change of pace. So close, she came so damn close to... Reiss paused in dragging her butt naked baby back to the center of the bed.

Falling to a knee, Reiss stared down at Myra but her mind tripped back to when she was all of fourteen watching in terror as her mother was slashed apart by hurlocks. She'd clung tight to her sister Atisha, both crying huge tears and frozen in place at the horrors they wouldn't turn away from. It was impossible; their mother had always been there, always been the one to swab up injuries, or set the table. Been the one to plait their hair and darn ripped clothes. Their whole lives she was there, and then she wasn't.

That could have been her for Myra, it nearly was. Shuddering in a breath, Reiss dipped her forehead to her baby. The one she never should have been able to create, their little surprise. For the back end of her childhood she had to mother her sister and brother. No, mother and father them both as they faced the life of being orphans. Every day she had to put their needs above her own, their lives. It trained Reiss to take risks that no sane person would because...because if she failed, who would care for them?

Tears dripped down her cheeks, each drop for her mother, her father, the life she could have led if they'd lived, and that fear inside of what would happen if Reiss ever let go. Died. Dead. She created this baby, brought her into this world, and at the first sign of trouble was willing to sacrifice herself to save her. What then? Sure, she lives, but without you. Myra would be motherless, same as her baby's mother.

Tiny hands patted against Reiss' cheeks, trying to splash in her tears the way one would rain puddles. Myra cooed, wiggling again off the bed. "Hey," she gripped onto her always moving baby with one hand and dried off her tears with the other. "Stay put. I'll get you a fresh nappy so you're not cold. But you best hold still."

She rose to her legs, Myra seeming happy to comply as she gnawed away on her hands. Turning to the table, Reiss lifted up a diaper, when sure enough she heard the focused grunting of a baby at work. Whipping her head back she spotted Myra wiggling a bit, but at her mother's attention the baby froze. At barely seven months old, she gave an 'I wasn't up to nothing' look and resumed chewing away at her fingers.

"What am I going to do with you?" Reiss chuckled, quickly diapering her little girl. In the middle of pinning it in place, she felt a presence enter the room behind her. Assuming it was Alistair, she said, "Your little girl's already learned how to play innocent angel when I'm looking and total demon when I'm not."

Leaving Myra on the bed, Reiss turned to him, "I assume that's all..." Her smile drained at the witch standing in their doorway. There was no cocky grin nor smirk to her cruel face. She was staring down at Myra as if trying to put the baby under some kind of trance.

"What do you want?" Reiss shot out, her voice ice cold. Morrigan blinked a moment, Reiss seeming to shake her from her own stupor. "Are you hoping I'll say thank you for saving my life? Because you'll be waiting a damn long time."

"I am..." the witch paused, looking as if she was torn between heading out the door or coming inside. "You were willing to sacrifice yourself for your child."

"Yeah," she said. The words should shore up her spine, but Reiss felt more like a failure for voicing them aloud. She would have both saved and doomed her baby in one go. Maybe not physically, but... "Why are you here, Morrigan?"

The woman stared down at Myra, perhaps for the first time since stealing her baby. Every other time she'd look through the infant as if she was little more than a crate of elfroot. But now her eyes trailed down that little nose, her chubby cheeks, and that barely there point to the ears. Morrigan glanced over at Reiss and sorrow filled her eyes.

 _Oh shit!_ Reiss tasted the magic rising in the air, sending her brain into a panic. She began to reach for a dagger left on the counter, but her entire body froze as that damn witch cast her spell quickly. No, not again!

"I am sorry," Morrigan whispered, the witch quickly stepping over towards her baby.

No! No! _No!_ Reiss strained in her prison, her eyes forced to watch as Morrigan hoisted up Myra in her arms. Unaware of anything bad happening, Myra began to giggle. She loved people, too much. She was too trusting, damn it!

_Help, please! Alistair...where are you?_

She tried to calm her heartbeat, to find that quiet place in her brain that Cullen attempted to teach her about. He made it look so easy, but every time Reiss almost touched it, her mind flared away as if it burned her. Why wasn't he here protecting her child? That's what templars did, protected the innocent from evil mages! Why did she walk away from them all?

Morrigan tucked a hand under Myra's bottom, holding her the way any mother would a child she loved. With her hands free, Myra reached to tug upon the necklace dangling over Morrigan's chest. She was completely at the witch's mercy.

Mercy, ha! The woman was incapable of such a feat.

Not even pausing at the child's innocence, a bright light began to rise from the witch's hands enveloping her baby. _No, Maker, no!_ Straining to reach Myra, to bat her free, Reiss tugged on every muscle inside of her. The magic caused her baby to stop playing with the necklace, her smile flipping down into a frown.

Please, blessed Andraste! Don't make me watch my baby die right in front of me!

She couldn't blink, couldn't move, only stare in horror as the white light fully enveloped Myra. Despair took hold, Reiss' mind screaming in a blind rage as she impotently sat witness to this unholy terror. No! _You've fought off so much worse that threatened your child, your family, the people you love. You can stop this!_

The rage washed over her, percolating to a crescendo when Myra's little mouth erupted with a single sob. Screaming, Reiss burst out of the spell. Her hand snatched up the dagger and, snaking an arm around Morrigan, drew the blade right to her traitorous throat. "I'm going to kill you," Reiss hissed, needing her to feel the same fear, the same hatred that was burning inside of her reflected in her enemy. _Quiver in terror before the end, you heartless bitch._

Instantly, the magic faded, the bright light drawing away to reveal Myra's bright green eyes blinking up at her mother. She wasn't dead. She was smiling, and not dead. _Oh, Maker!_ But... Reiss slicked the blade closer, the edge meeting against flesh. The witch didn't whimper in pain or fear, but stood stock still.

"What did you do? What did you do to my baby? We have a deal!"

She felt Morrigan soften in her arms, the rigid body all but melting from her grip. Oh shit, was she trying to transform away? Would she steal Myra again? In a voice as desolate as a desert at night, the witch whispered, "Please, kill me."

"What?" Reiss shook her head to clear it, the rage buzzing like summer flies in her ears.

Tears reverberated in Morrigan's words, her voice choked in sobs as she said, "I have doomed my son to death. My own would be a welcoming embrace."

Reiss darted back to Myra, the urge to scoop her baby away all but overpowering her need to keep a grip on the witch. She should be strong, cut this woman down, but...she wanted it? What sick game was she playing now? The others had to be told, the Hero that...something was different. The witch cast a spell to-to do whatever she did.

Rolling the dagger down in her fist, Reiss yanked her baby out of Morrigan's hands. The witch didn't put up a fight, but Myra did, her child wanting to keep playing with the funny necklace. Maker. A calm washed against her rising terror as the weight of her child heaved upon her arms. She was here. She was alive. But was she safe? With a sneer, Reiss rolled the dagger back and aimed the blade at Morrigan.

For a time the witch held her hands in place as if she was still holding Myra, or perhaps another baby she once remembered so many years ago. Slowly, she folded her arms together tight to hug herself. "Your child is free of my curse, as are you. And in its place, my son...is gone."

"You're lying. All you do is lie!" Reiss sneered at her, but she couldn't lie to Lana. "Get out there! Walk back into the main room," she jabbed the dagger at the witch who sighed, but followed her orders. There was no sneer, no pedestal, something inside Morrigan seemed to have shattered as her head hung low.

When the witch appeared, Alistair glanced up from scrubbing the stones, then he paled at the sight of Reiss holding a blade on her. "What's going on? What happened?" He stumbled to his feet and rushed over as if afraid he'd have to save Morrigan in order to save their baby.

"She cast something on our daughter. I couldn't stop her, but..." Reiss passed Myra over to Alistair so she could better hold first the dagger on Morrigan, and then unsheathe her sword. Both blades honed in tight on the witch, baying for her blood.

Alistair stared hard at his baby who looked unaffected, then he glared at Morrigan, "What did you do to her?"

The witch only smirked at him, a single snort her answer.

Clattering sounds drew both Alistair and Reiss to watch Cullen and Lana advancing upon them. The Commander was silent, his face a storm cloud, but Lana shouted, "Whatever you're planning, don't!"

She clearly meant it for Reiss holding Morrigan at knife point, but it was the witch who turned to her. In a voice beaten to a pulp, she whispered, "Too late."

"Morrigan..." Lana's eyes narrowed to slits.

Reiss interrupted, jerking her chin at her baby, "Check Myra. Please. Is there a curse, or something worse? Is she...is she dying?"

The Hero of Ferleden's eyes closed, her fingers dipping through the air. At first her face looked calm and focused, but as she tugged deeper into the fade, shock replaced it. Reiss braced herself for the worst, but Lana shouted in surprise at Morrigan, "There's nothing. No curse, no...the baby is--."

"Free, as I already explained."

No... Reiss staggered back, her hands locking around her husband and baby as she tried to blink against the impossibility. This nightmare was over? Just...just like that. The witch gave it and then took it away as easily.

"Morrigan?" Lana was the only one to care, her hand gripping to the witch's arm as she tried to stare into the haunting eyes. "What about Kieran?"

At the name of her son, Morrigan shuddered and Alistair turned in Reiss' grip. Please, Maker no, don't let him get it into his head to do the right thing. Not when they were so close to freedom.

Morrigan's eyes drifted down to perhaps her only friend in the world and she smiled sadly. "He asked me to let him go, I am obeying my son's wishes."

"But..."

"Do not!" Morrigan shouted in pain before tugging it back, "Go, all of you. Pack up your things, leave me." She turned to gaze back at the boy sentenced to death, "Leave us." For a moment the witch stared right into Reiss' eyes, was she trying to apologize or...was there potentially worse on the horizon?

"Will you come after us? For revenge?" she asked point blank, the other adults groaning but Reiss had to know for herself.

"Revenge?" Morrigan chuckled mirthlessly. "It all seemed so simple at twenty. Now... I can no longer tell where the real monsters lurk. No, you shall never hear nor see from me again. Any of you."

"But Morrigan," Lana wouldn't give up. She kept guiltily glancing back at her patient as if pleading with the witch would somehow change her mind. As if that were a good thing.

Cullen grabbed onto his wife's hand and spun her to face him. He was sneering at what seemed to be the whole world while juggling Gavin nearer to his mother. "We should go, do as she asks. Or would you give up everything," he snarled and turned to their boy, "everyone in your life?"

At that Reiss and Alistair shared a look, both of them having missed something major. Was that why Morrigan suddenly changed her mind? What in thedas had the Hero promised for their child's life?

For a moment Lana looked stricken as if his harsh words physically slapped her. Her eyes fell and she cuddled closer to her son, "No, no, you're...we should leave. Pack up everything and..."

Cullen left her standing there holding tight to her baby while he rounded up everything they'd need. For a moment Alistair and Reiss both stood dumb stricken, staring at the witch and then Lana who seemed to be crumbling from the inside. "You hold her," Alistair dumped Myra back into her arms, "I'll get everything we need."

Nodding, Reiss left him to run off. While she clung tight to her baby, she did her best to not look back at the young man stretched out upon his true death bed. But Lana said Myra's blood wouldn't even work. It's not her fault for saving her baby. This was all Morrigan's doing. All the mother's choice...

Three mothers, three children, and one wouldn't survive. There was nothing to be said, no hollow words to make it right, no fists of victory. Death stung the air worse than the smell of darkspawn blood. For so long Reiss was running on nothing but vengeance and hatred; her chest felt hollow, her veins drained of energy. Lana looked worse, the poor woman who was the last to speak to Kieran, to try and comfort him. Did she assure him in the Fade that he would be saved?

Reiss reached over to try and pat her back, when Cullen appeared with a bag tossed over his shoulder. No smile crossed his lips, he still looked as if he wanted to knock down the walls with his bare fists. Still, at the sight of his wife waning under the weight of their son, he plucked up Gavin into his arms and then steadied her by the elbow. It wasn't the typical warmth Reiss expected between them, but a sign of necessity to keep her upright. What in the Maker's name happened?

When Alistair ran out, Morrigan seemed to wake from her trance. She wiped a hand across her face as if chasing away all the pains of her son's final moments. It was Lana who reached out, "Do you wish me to stay until he's...gone?"

A doleful smile flitted with Morrigan's lips as she gazed over at her. "No." The hazy moment fell away, the armor of cruelty the witch wore returning, "No, all of you must leave, now. There shall be nothing for you to find, or follow. I assure you. Now leave me."

All four stared at each other, but it took the Commander's overbearing tone to shake them out of it, "You heard her. Let's get going before she changes her mind." He wrapped a hand around his wife's waist and guided her towards the entrance. The cane clipped and clopped against stone stained with darkspawn blood, Lana focused fully upon her baby.

"We should go too," Alistair said curling a hand around Myra before half hugging Reiss. Her eyes darted over to Morrigan, pity finally managing to bob to the surface. But she knew anything she said wouldn't touch the witch. Turning, Reiss began the short walk to freedom with her baby safely in her arms.

It was Alistair who remained behind longer, his eyes stuck upon the young man, his child, doomed to the void. "I..." his voice was hollow, all mirth fully drained, "I'm sorry."

Morrigan snorted and she leaned closer to him. At that Reiss spun on her heels, terrified she was about to stab Alistair and drain his blood or do something worse, but the witch merely whispered something so softly it carried only to Alistair's ears. His eyes widened at that and he glanced back at her as if she'd suddenly sprouted two heads. Gulping, Alistair scattered away from Morrigan to Reiss' side. He cupped the small of her back and helped her towards the entrance.

No one looked back at the witch, or the young man about to die. No ones heart was in it.

By the time they reached the entrance, they had to coordinate to get Lana and the two babies up the broken ramp. One of the guards held Gavin as Cullen was moving to tug his wife up, when a massive explosion erupted from behind them. Everyone turned around to watch as dust and debris rolled over the ancient rocks. When the filthy air cleared, rubble and the thaig's walls lay in true ruins blocking the entrance. Morrigan sealed herself in. She wasn't planning on anyone following her, wherever she was going.

"Up we go," Alistair climbed the ramp first, then plucked Myra from Reiss' arms. After far too much hefting and fretting, they finally stepped out into the fading light of day. She had to throw a hand over her eyes, squinting against a sun some part of Reiss feared she'd never see again. Myra's eyes lit up at all the green around them. The forest was far more alive than the city her baby knew, unless you counted the sewers. She kicked her little feet, wanting to get down to play in the moss and forest undergrowth.

A bit away from them, Lana stared at her son clutched tight to her chest. She seemed stunned at it all, looking at Gavin as if she thought she'd never see or hold him again. Beside but not close, Cullen paced back and forth, putting the screws to the guards to find a trail and lodging for the night. Reiss turned to Alistair, about to point out that something was very wrong, but he was watching them too, his lips puckered in a frown.

"Your Highness," one of the soldiers approached, "I take it the child is now safe."

"Yeah, send a raven back to Denerim that we're coming home. It's good news...all good news," his chin tipped down and a sob rattled in his chest. Reiss reached over to try and comfort him when a massive form burst through the forest and into the sky. Bright crimson scales glittered in the setting sun as a dragon beat wings to rise higher into the air.

"Bloody hell, just what we need!" the guard shouted, about to unsheathe his sword, but Alistair grabbed his hand to stop him.

"Look," he said, pointing towards the dragon's claws. Clutched inside was what looked like a man -- a young man still asleep and cursed to never wake. "Guess she figured out how to turn into a dragon after all."

"What do we do now?" Reiss asked.

Alistair wrapped first one hand then the other around her and Myra, his face smooshing into her shoulder. "We go home," he said to them, no doubt meaning it in his heart. The Commander and Hero didn't make eye contact as they shifted towards their horses, the guards assisting in any way they could.

The other guard reached out for Myra, no doubt to let Reiss get mounted, but she gripped tighter to her baby. She wasn't letting Myra out of her sight, not unless it was into Alistair's hands. Turning over, she spotted him standing rooted in the spot. Despite his declaration to head home, he hadn't moved, a hand above his eyes while he kept watch in the sky trailing where the dragon flew off with his bastard child.

"Alistair," Reiss reached over, startling him. He weakly smiled at her and sighed to join her. Sliding nearer, she whispered to him, "What did Morrigan say to you?"

At that he laughed once, his eyes welling up in tears, "She said, that, um...she said I was a good father."

Reiss buried her head into his cheek, trying to mask her tears with his. Whispering to the world, she said, "You are."


	35. Birthday Present

I was surprised today [by Space_aged](http://voidtakeyou.tumblr.com/) with this AMAZING, AWESOME, I'M OUT OF A-WORDS comic of the first scene of Cullen getting ambushed by Lana in what started this all, [_My Warden_.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5780881/chapters/13323133)

You can find that comic here, on [her tumblr](http://voidtakeyou.tumblr.com/post/162995729272/it-is-the-most-amazing-introvertedwifes-birthday), or hanging around [on twitter](https://twitter.com/space_aged) chasing after the north plains Bigfoot. It's the Sasquatch that hangs around in flat lands thinking its grass. Go and say hi, and how super cool they all look!

Best birthday present ever!


	36. Bet On It

A warm wind whipped through the air, the paper lanterns swaying off their perch while Cullen did his best to not glare at them so hard they burst into flames. People gathered under them singing, or dancing, or whatever villagers did in this part of Ferelden during the solstice. He used to know, he used to do it too. There was always fresh mead, the honey practically glued to every chin. And a girl wearing daisies in her hair, with soft skin and a birthmark shaped like a flower dashed across her...

Snarling at his brain for bringing up that memory, he crossed his arms and continued to stare menacingly at the celebrators. He didn't mean to, but there'd already been a few complaints about the stranger pacing up and down the outer balcony like a fiend in the night because he couldn't stand to be around her for more than a few minutes. They'd made it to a small town on the outskirts of what used to be Lothering. Apparently that was where all the guards were pilfering baby supplies from. Of course they were more than happy to put the King and his friends up in one of the fanciest suites available, giving them all a beautiful view of the empty stars and cold landscape. Maybe to the people celebrating it was gorgeous, but all Cullen could see was the vast nothing. It'd been a long time since he gazed out at the wide world and felt only hollowness in his bones.

"Here's where you're hiding."

Maker's blighted ass, he did not need that! Not now.

Unaware of any pain he was causing Cullen, or perhaps aware and enjoying it, the king stepped out onto the stone balcony. That may not be the proper term for it, as it circled fully around the building with stairs leading up to it, but Cullen never studied architecture. Maybe he could ask someone later; at least it'd be an excuse to keep him busy for awhile.

Alistair stopped not near Cullen, his hands gripping to the stone edge as he gazed down at the drunken debauchery. "Andraste, watching all that really drives home how old I am. I keep thinking 'shut up already, it's nearing ten and some of us have kids that need to sleep!'" He snickered at his inane prattle, then shot a glance over at Cullen.

"Alright," Alistair shoved himself back from the banister to spin and lean upon it. Folding his arms he said, "Out with it."

"With what?" he tried to not growl, but it seemed like every sentence that came out was that. He was a man with nothing left in this world snarling at shadows of what was.

Alistair groaned, tipping his head back as if in agony, "Whatever happened between you and Lanny."

Anger burned in Cullen's veins, the white hot rage he thought he'd moved beyond. The one he never wanted to feel for her. "That is..."

"Don't say 'none of my business,' okay. Like it or not, she's my friend. And...if it weren't for me, neither of you, all three of you, would have been caught up in this mess." He stared at Cullen, and the stand-off pose faded, "I want to help."

He wanted to smack the man right in the nose again. To send him toppling off the balcony. The fall wouldn't kill him, but it'd certainly shut him up. Balling up a fist, Cullen began to pace in agitation. "How? How can you possibly help? Are you capable of altering the past? Can you stop Lana, my wife, from saying she'd...from agreeing to walk away from me?" Cullen paused, the burn building behind his eyes as he dug tighter into his palms, "From our son?"

A great sigh broke from Alistair and he pinched into the bridge of his nose. "I should have guessed that's what she did."

For two decades, Cullen thought he knew her. That she went from this unreachable, impossible woman to a light in his life he never wanted to lose. Through so much she remained at his side, the good and bad. But at this, for this, she would have walked away. He wanted to say he was madder at her turning her back on their boy, but he wasn't. Not really. It was the fear of having to wake every day without her at his side that terrorized his thoughts, and the idea that she'd choose it struck him right to the core.

"I get you're mad," the king began, walking out onto very creaking ice. "And I don't blame you, but...this is Lanny we're talking about."

"Yes, Lana, my wife, the woman who swore she'd..." Cullen stepped back into the shadows, refusing to let Alistair see the tears building in his eyes. But he couldn't shake the sob in his voice as he whispered to himself, "she'd never leave me. I can't, not again."

Those were the longest two years of his life. He thought he'd found salvation, began to move beyond the chantry and its siren call of the lyrium burning in his mind. Made friends, pledged himself to a better cause. Found love where he never thought possible. Only to have her abandon him to the fade, to take the fall in order to save her cousin, to save them all. He could forgive her for that choice, but this... How could he ever look at her again for it?

"You know her," Alistair whispered against the sound of crickets chirping through the night.

"Do I?" Cullen whipped over at him, "I thought I did, but..."

"Solona Amell, Hero of Ferelden, a woman who thinks she can walk into any situation, any fire, and fix it because...Maker guide us, she usually can. Stopped a blight in a year, unheard of. Survived two years in the Fade. No one's ever done that. Every time the Maker throws an obstacle in her way, she's so damn pigheaded she butts right back into it until she can save the day."

Cullen gripped harder to his hands, letting the king's words wash over him. It was all true, she was those things. But she was also his partner, his lover, his other half.

"She thought she could do it again, yank another miracle out of her ass. Maybe knowing you were safe, her son was safe, she thought she'd stumble across the answer in a week at most and be back home with you. Save the day, everyone lives, happy ending." Alistair shuddered in a breath and haunted eyes stared across the landscape. Somewhere out there was the dragon that plucked Kieran's unresponsive body up into the sky. "Even she had to run out of luck eventually."

A miracle. She should be dead, a good dozen times over. Lana would laugh about the idea, shrugging as if none of it mattered, but he felt it, he knew. Kinloch, Ostagaar, Denerim, Amaranthine, the Deep Roads, the Fade, The Anderfels. All of it should have done her in but she kept striking back. Wounded, scarred, but alive.

Was that to be the same? Did she really think she'd be back in his arms so soon? Even Lana at her most optimistic wasn't that delusional, she was the one to give the year long timeline.

A hand landed across Cullen's back and he glanced over at a soft pain in Alistair's face. "You know Lanny, better than me, better than anyone else. You know she loves you." Cullen growled at that, the fact slipping further and further through his fingers, but Alistair continued. "And you know that she has to do what's right and damn the consequences to herself."

"Why?" Cullen gasped, in far too much pain to shrug the man away. He hated Alistair, but right now he hated himself more.

"Because 'Magic should serve man and never rule over him.' Been hearing that her whole life, and..." Alistair sucked in a breath as he turned towards the room Cullen left Lana alone in with their boy, "she can't escape it."

"Escape what?"

"Serving. Think about it, Hero of Ferelden, coulda sat on a fancy chair and ordered people to give her grapes, but nope. Not Lanny. She was always trudging down into the deep roads, risking her neck instead of some underling's. Signing up with the Inquisition despite putting in her pound of flesh. Even now she can barely walk but she's devoted to saving templars. You don't find that odd?"

"It..." Cullen breathed fire into his lungs. He gave of himself for others, it was what he was meant to do. Lana seemed to be the same and yet, Alistair's words struck him hard. "It never occurred to me."

"She's afraid that if she stops being useful," Alistair swallowed, "she'll fail...someone. The Maker, the chantry, you, I don't know."

"Lana told you this?" Cullen turned on him. They'd been married for six years, had a child, and he'd never heard any of this from his wife.

"Kinda, a long time ago, back when she was in Amaranthine." He blinked and turned to gaze down at the festivities, "I kept asking her to join my court, to get her ass out of danger, but she refused. Wouldn't give a reason, it being Lanny. I swear I thought she was the most stubborn person I knew until I met you."

"If she didn't tell you..."

"It all clicked, came together for me during one of her dark times. A pretty bad one, not like the Calling bad, but bad. She caught some stomach bug going around, nearly all the other wardens were laid up in bed with the fever, but not Lanny. Nope, she was hard at work even while dribbling mucus and practically folded over in pain. I figured it was her stubborn spine 'til I caught her eyes."

His story paused as he tapped his fingers against the railing, an arrhythmic staccato to it. "She was scared, of failing at what'd been beaten into her head since she was a kid. Of not serving properly. It's still in there, if she doesn't turn her magic to good, to helping, then she feels..."

"Like a failure," Cullen sputtered, "like a monster." How did he not see it?

Because you didn't want to. Because you loved the idea of working side by side with the woman you loved. Because that was the background of your life to keeping the mages in check. Because you bear the blame same as any templar.

"Like she's not earning her keep, and whatever the consequences for those are. Look, I'm sure you're mad. I can somewhat relate, having had Reiss..." he stopped his sentence and a sliver of anger rolled through his eyes. The woman he loved abandoned him too, but she came back.

And Lana never left you, not really.

"Just, give her a chance. That's all I'm saying. Don't, please don't do anything stupid like break her heart. Because, despite all my bravado, I'm not certain if I can take you in a fistfight," he slapped Cullen on the shoulder and chuckled.

"I will," he gulped staring down at his fingers, "consider your words." Maker take him but he really was weighing what this claptrap of a man said.

"Good," Alistair smiled, "now I'm heading back inside before I go on full old man grump at all that merriment. I swear, I'm going to start screaming at kids to get off my lawn in a few years." He laughed to himself while sliding inside.

Cullen remained at the balcony, staring past the joyful villagers and up into the night's sky. A nearly full moon illuminated the dark swath of indigo, but what drew his attention was a single star plucked from the middle of the multitude. Fenrir glittered down upon them all.

 

* * *

 

 

Her boy grew heavier in her arms with every step, Lana struggling under both the weight and her weary body. She pushed herself too hard for too long. The ride wasn't easy, and having to keep a baby balanced while...she didn't want to comprehend what happened nor what nearly did. Stopping to think upon it, to let into her mind the idea that she almost walked away from the baby dragging down her arms struck in her heart. Every time she shifted, she felt the needle sticking deeper, the perforations leaving her gasping for air.

Cullen was out wandering, getting fresh air he said. He'd offered to take Gavin off of her, but she didn't want to give him up, which only got her an eye roll. She could already hear his unspoken words, 'Now you choose to keep your son.' At least he didn't say them, stomping off to growl and snarl towards anything in his path.

_What were you thinking?_

She wasn't. She needed an answer, and there was one. A stupid one she would have regretted five minutes after Cullen left, but...there was nothing else. Even now with Morrigan having taken the burden upon herself, Lana couldn't stop wondering what she'd have done different, how she could have saved Kieran. And what about Alistair? He got one child back only to face another's death. That had to be wearing upon him no matter how much of a happy smile he threw on.

_You're not doing any better._

Bundling her arms tighter, she stared into the heavy lidded eyes of her baby. "I'm sorry, so sorry. I never wanted to, didn't mean to..." Lana's tears halted as she spotted a shadow drifting through the hall towards her. No one else remained in the big house, all rushing off to attend the festivities. Her breath returned at the tuft of blonde hair and cocky smile.

"Ali," she called, trying to wave at him, but having a baby get in the way.

He tipped his head and softly jogged a few steps closer to her. "I can't believe you're up," he said first to her, then his eyes darted down to the baby drooping in her arms, "Or you. This has to be long past child bedtime. Pretty sure this is past old King bedtime too."

Entertained at the attention, Gavin's eyes opened wider and his hand reached for Alistair. "Great," Lana sighed, "I'm never getting him down."

"Sorry," Ali winced. "Mind if I take over?"

"Maker's sake, no," she happily hoisted her boy into his arms if only to feel blood pooling back into her hands and wrists. Pretty soon she wouldn't be able to carry Gavin anymore, having to let him stumble on his toes alone. Her body wasn't good for much beyond being a cracked vase housing her already dented soul.

Alistair was quick to tuck Gavin in safe, his rested arms rocking the baby back and forth the way Lana should be able to. The way a good mother would. "Go to sleep, because it's nice. I like sleep. Something about mice," he sang song spoke in a half lullaby to her boy whose eyes began to strain against the tug. Whether it was the rocking or the warm arms, Gavin's lights began to wink out and he faded to sleep. His little mouth fluttered open, the dark lips framing a nub of a tooth that prodded free.

"Thank you," she whispered, placing a hand to his arms to try and encourage the rocking. Gavin could get fussy about getting to sleep, but when he was down he was out.

"No problem, I'm practically an expert now," Ali chuckled. "Three times over," the proud smile began to dim as he kept trying to redo the math in his head. Should it be four or not?

Biting into her lip, she tried to catch his wandering eye, "Are you okay?"

"Yes, no, I...don't know. What to think about any of this. Anything. It's me, right? Alistair, the unthinker." He dropped his head as if lost in the sleeping baby's face, the tone soft and confused, "Not even sure if I should care. He was raised by the evil, baby-stealing witch after all. My...my son could have been just as bad."

Was that what he needed to hear? To think? Lana reached a hand out to rub his arm and caught a glitter of a tear in his eye. No, not Ali. "What little I spoke to him, Kieran seemed to be a good man. He didn't want Morrigan to sacrifice a baby to save him, not his half sister."

"I keep thinking I shouldn't care, and then I'm also mad I'm not sadder than I am. People grieve when their kids die. That's normal, that's how it works, but..." he groaned, his arms slowing in the rocking as he stared at Gavin.

"I don't think there's a normal here. We're all making this up as we go, Ali," she patted him on the back.

Alistair snorted, "Just like always. Lanny, um..."

"What?" she turned at his long pause, fear rising in her gut. "Do not tell me there's more wrong." Her body was beyond reproach, her heart bleeding open, and she had yet to figure out how to talk to Cullen. Anymore problems to solve would probably kill her on the spot.

"The phylactery I made from Morrigan's blood, it's..." He reached into his pocket and fished out the ink bottle. "Gone black." Flickering candlelight bounced against what should have been crimson and pulsing but was dark as charcoal instead.

Lana reached towards it, her finger skimming against the glass even though she wasn't capable of using a phylactery, "Then she's..."

"Who knows. This is Morrigan, maybe she found a way to make it so a phylactery can't trace her. I," Alistair groaned, his body swaying backwards. He was quick to catch himself and the baby in his arms, but the exhaustion hit fast.

"You should get some sleep," Lana ordered, as if she could ever stop commanding people.

Ali pinched his forehead and then smiled, "What about you?"

"I'll...I will soon. I was planning on it once Gavin went down."

He tipped the boy around to stare at the cherubic cheeks gently whiffling from a tiny snore. "He's damn cute, Lanny," Alistair proclaimed while handing over her baby.

"I know," Lana tried to smile as the weight returned to her. She made an adorable child and almost walked out on him. That was unforgivable. Maker's breath, how could she ask for Cullen's absolution when she couldn't give it to herself? Both old friends peered down at the sleeping baby, Gavin's hands curled up together like he was clinging to a staff of his own.

A soft cough caused them both to whip their heads up. Cullen teetered on his toes as if he were drunk. She knew it wasn't alcohol but uncertainty that made his body wobble. He had his hands clasped together as if in prayer but they lay flat before his stomach.

"I should be heading to bed," Alistair said, his eyes glancing between the two of them. "Goodnight Lanny," he smiled at her, before running a finger against Gavin's cheeks, "and you too, you exhausted little mushroom."

With his armor of simplemindedness in place, Alistair dipped away towards the room he shared with Reiss. No doubt she could pry him out of it the way Lana always failed to. He was clearly hurting, but it wasn't Lana's job to save him. She watched her old friend vanish because it was easier on her heart than having to face up to her husband. In her arms, her baby began to fuss a bit, causing Lana to dip lower in the off chance she may accidentally drop him.

At that Cullen stopped rubbing the back of his neck and dashed towards them. "Do you need me to hold him?" he asked even while reaching out to scoop up Gavin.

"Yes..." Lana released her grip, her fingers skimming across Cullen's before coming to land with a thud at her side, "please."

It was strange to think he'd been terrified of his son those first few weeks of life. Cullen was a natural now, comforting and shielding Gavin the way any good father would. The way she failed to.

Spinning away, Lana jammed a palm to her eye to try and stopper the tears. She couldn't face them both, not now, not after how close she came to... "I'm sorry," Lana gasped, wishing it would be enough. "I never wanted to, but I...I didn't know what to, and the idea of losing you. I just kept thinking if I let you go then it'd be okay. Somehow it'd," her voice faded as she whimpered to herself, "be okay."

When a palm glanced across her back, she all but leapt out of her shoes. Lana turned to stare over her shoulder at the man who should be snarling at her. He'd been at it for the entire ride, the sneer never letting his lip scar dip down. But something was different now, he looked broken and she was the one who did it.

"Tell me you're mad," Lana gasped out.

"Very," Cullen nodded.

"And," she focused on their little boy, "tell me if you think you can't trust me."

He swallowed at that, surprised she'd know what her walking away would do to him. As if she'd forget what her staying behind in the fade cost them both. His eyes faded downward to whisper, "It's difficult at the moment."

"Then," Lana's words stuck hard in her throat. She had to ask them, even knowing that there was no walking back from this abyss. Her lips trembling and hands shaking, she watched Gavin's little nose twitch in a breath while asking, "tell me if you, if you can never love me again."

"Lana," his hand cupped against her cheek. She pressed into it, but wouldn't stare at him.

"Don't, don't lie or sugar coat it, or try to pretend that we can get over it in time. I need to know now," she wrapped both her hands around his wrist, clinging tight to him before finally facing his eyes.

They watered over, soft from the candlelight as Cullen tugged her closer to him, "I still love you. I will always love you. In twenty years, I never stopped loving you. I can't. It's impossible."

Sobs erupted from her throat, Lana clinging to her husband and son for support. His one free hand tried to smooth down her hair as he attempted to comfort her while she bawled on top of their baby. "I'm stupid, I hate that I'm stupid like that. That I...I don't even know why. Why I thought to do it. I never want to go. To lose after so much was already lost."

He paused in brushing her hair to sigh, "I know, and I." Cullen screwed up his eyes, "I think I finally understand."

"Good, maybe you can explain it to me then," she grumbled, wanting to grab whatever part of her brain kept sabotaging herself and strangle it. Running headfirst into danger seemed like a good trait to have, right until you kept leaving your friends and family in the ashes to do it.

A strong, patient arm wrapped around her, Lana tucked in so tight to their baby she guided her arms under Gavin to support him. "It's who you are," Cullen whispered, his lips brushing against her forehead, "who I fell in love with, who I will always love. A fact of which I should try to remember from time to time."

"I love you, both of you. I'm sorry. I...I don't know what to say anymore."

"The Inquisitor asked me to join him in his fight against Solas."

At that sudden change of topic Lana blinked madly and stared a question up at Cullen. He wouldn't stare down at them but had his eyes fixed over the horizon. "But I'm not going to do it. I'm...I belong to you, to my family," he dropped his head down, his lips breathing against the top of her head.

"Family," she sighed. At six years old she was taken to the tower, taught that this was and would forever be her world. No children, no marriage, only a life devoted to the chantry. She lost her parents, her brother, her aunts and uncles and everyone else in her life in that single day. "I never thought I'd have that again."

Cullen, the boy who became a templar, who was devoted to the chantry in both the same and vastly different ways, tucked himself tighter against his wife and son. Sighing with them both, he whispered, "Me neither."

 

* * *

 

 

Carefully, Alistair eased open the door to the room the mansion owners were more than happy to fork over to their King. They hadn't even batted an eye at him requesting a cradle for the baby in the elven woman's hands. Then again, they probably thought she was the nanny and not his Wheaty's mother. When he left Reiss, she was struggling to get the wide eyed Myra to stop staring at all this new and exciting stuff and go to sleep. As his shadow crossed the threshold, he felt a hand grab onto him and a voice hiss in a threatening whisper, "I just got her down and so help me if you wake her up..."

Reiss let the threat die, or was willing to allow Alistair to fill in the missing gaps. Nodding that he heard her words, he used everything in his power to silence the door closing. It barely even jangled, Alistair quick to catch the latch and settle it softly downward. Both heads whipped towards the cradle warmed by moonlight, but not a peep stirred.

"Blessed Andraste," Reiss sighed, folding downward. He was quick to wrap his arms around her, and she turned towards him. Nestling her head against his shoulder, she sighed in contentment. "Over. We're going home. I never imagined."

"Yeah," he swallowed, doing his best to keep his voice low. He felt Reiss turning a curious look on him but he wasn't in the mood to play over all the conflicting emotions bubbling in his head. Changing the conversation he nodded to the cradle, "How's she holding up?"

"She's doing wonderful. Got to smile at a good hundred new people all in full on drunk festival mode. I nearly had to bite some asshole's hand when he tried to snatch Myra from me," Reiss growled.

It was strangely beautiful to see his wife so protective of their daughter, even if she did bear a striking resemblance to a mabari mid-throat gouging. Butting his lips into her cheek, Alistair breathed her in. No scent of darkspawn, of death, of blood hanging in the air. She smelled clean, fresh, hopeful. They all did. "Our daughter seems to really like making friends."

"Right, because that'll never come back to bite her in the ass," Reiss fumed, but it was losing its bite.

"You're tired," Alistair said, barely beating her to a great yawn.

"No..." she let loose another one, then shook her head, "shit. I'm sure you are too."

He wasn't. His mind couldn't stop playing over everything that went wrong, every pain he forced back upon those who were dear to him, and one person he couldn't give a single shit about. Trying to smile through it, Alistair said, "I should sleep, long road ahead."

Tugging on his hands, Reiss pulled him onto the massive master bed. The house must have been built around it the thing was so huge. Even the mattress was ancient, sagging in the middle like quicksand prepared to drag its victims down to their cozy death. Both of them rolled into its snare, their hands locked around each other and they held tight. Reiss buried her face into his chest while Alistair kept glancing down past his toes at the cradle where their baby slept. If it weren't for the occasional snore, he'd have had to check to make certain she was in there.

"When I get home, I am going to grab up Spud and Cailan, give them both gigantic hugs, and not let them down for two days. Maybe three if Bea doesn't find out."

"Home," Reiss murmured to herself, her lips brushing against his chest.

Even with the weary road ahead of them and Alistair itching to be on it, he turned to her. "Okay, what's wrong? I could dance around it, wait until you're ready, but I doubt I'd get much sleep fretting away at all hours of the night."

It took her a few minutes, Reiss pressing her face tighter and tighter to him as if she could bury herself away from it. Her fingers gripped into his shoulders. Normally, he'd brace himself for the clothes to go flying when she did that, but she seemed to need him to act as her tether.

"You were right," her words bit through the starlit air.

Alistair blinked, "I was? That'd be a first. Wait, what was I right about?"

"Myra, the palace and..." Reiss sat up and she stared over at her sleeping baby, "It was my fault. She was taken, on my watch. I can't...you can protect her at the palace, keep her safe and--"

"Reiss," Alistair joined her, both of them focusing on the tuckered out girl with bright green eyes who seemed unaware of how close she walked to death. "It's not your fault. Morrigan didn't want your blood."

"But I couldn't stop her," she gasped, tears beginning. Alistair was quick to try and sop them up. "I tried, and I tried, but it wasn't enough. I'm not enough, not to protect my baby."

"You are." _Maker's sake._ Not this old argument again. He wanted to see his baby, to see Reiss, to be with them both, but Alistair was coming to accept that it wouldn't get to be as easy as strolling down the hall whenever he wanted. The templar was blessed.

"I failed her," Reiss mumbled, her head falling towards her lap. "And you should take her with you, keep her safe. She'll be getting onto solids soon, and I can stop by the palace on some days and nights. It wouldn't...it shouldn't..."

"Stop."

She turned her head towards him, Alistair barely able to stop the tears soaking into his palms. "Please, stop beating yourself up. Thinking that you have to live a life with your daughter, our daughter, hidden away at the top of some unassailable tower. I know this was bad. Really bad, and scary, and I hated every Maker damn minute of it, but..."

Sighing, he wrapped his hands around Reiss' shoulders and pulled her forehead to his. She returned the sentiment, her fingers plying apart the beard that sprouted down his chin during their exile. "You know where you belong, and Myra belongs with you."

"What about you?" Reiss gasped, "You deserve to be with her too."

"I will. I...it's not that hard for me to dip in and out, or for you both to..." He sighed and figured now was the best time to reveal the bit of information he'd been holding back out of fear of how she'd rip his head off upon learning it. "I've been having a room set up, something for her. Myra. When she gets older and doesn't want to be seen with her parents. I swear I think that starts at age six now. So if you're busy at the agency on a case, my Wheaty can stay with me. Have her own space and not have to deal with castle political bullshit."

Alistair gritted his teeth, expecting Reiss to lash out and rip his face off. He began laying the plans the minute he returned after the agency was attacked, needing to give his daughter and the woman he loved some kind of safe harbor should the worst happen. And, knowing how against it all Reiss would be, he never had the balls to tell her.

"That's," Reiss turned back to their baby, then him, and she smiled, "a good idea."

"Really?" he gasped.

"Yes, really. To give her a space, a spot, so she's not just the bastard daughter or is mistaken as the help's brat. Her own room. This won't be easy," Reiss sighed, her forehead bouncing against his.

"Doesn't mean it's not worth trying," Alistair curled his hand back against her cheek and it found its way up to her bun.

She snickered at that and sighed, "You can take it out." Unable to bite down the smile, Alistair undid her hair, the golden strands sifting through his fingers. He could sit and comb it for hours, adoring the feel of every soft wave before they were all banished back under her hat.

"I'm scared," Reiss said, "of what the future will bring. Of trying to..." She paused and began to laugh, at first it was a bracing haw haw but it quickly picked up steam into a mad giggle. Alistair slowed in combing her hair to look concerned at the sudden turn. "I have a King's child. A child with royal blood. We...we made a baby together. It's, this is madness."

"Yep." He scooted her closer to him, his lips placing a kiss to the tip of her nose. "It's completely bonkers when you stop and think about it. And I wouldn't change a thing."

He fell in love with a stubborn as hell elven woman whose life was poking into murders and chasing down villains. It wouldn't be so bad if he wasn't often required to sit on a fancy chair and tell entire Arlings what to do. And those two people, those busy, overcommitted, confounding people made a baby. A baby who'd one day grow into her own fascinating young woman no doubt with golden hair, bright green eyes, and a penchant for getting into trouble. Given her parentage, that was pretty much guaranteed.

Tugging Reiss downward, both lay back upon the bed. His lover, his wife, this gift he'd never imagined how much he ached for, placed her hand upon his chest. She drew her fingers up and down, trailing some long ripped apart embroidery. After a time, she whispered in the dark, "Do you think we'll pull this off?"

"Only time will tell," Alistair admitted logically. Then he pressed his lips to her forehead and whispered, "But I'd bet on it."


	37. Epilogue

_Thirteen Years Later..._

 

The sickle's blade barely sliced through the tall grass, most of it clogging on the handle instead. Groaning, he let his arm fall slack, the scythe scattering to the half mowed field. Barely caring, he wiped his arm against his forehead and tried to clear away the sweat dripping into his eyes. He should have worn the field hat left on the kitchen peg, but thought after shaving his hair off it wouldn't be needed. Why did he keep forgetting about the damn sun?

"Gavin," his father's voice broke him from staring at nothing. The wiry boy shed his shirt behind, leaving his ropey body exposed to the sun while his father remained nearly fully clothed. Even his tunic reached all the way to the wrists, exposing a hint of that pink skin that easily turned red during summer. In that matter at least Gavin made out better.

He wished he had his father's wingspan however.

To Gavin's quarter acre that was cut apart and left to dry in the summer heat, Cullen managed nearly half going on three fourths. Which, his father kept eyeballing as if he assumed Gavin was slacking off. "You've stopped," he pointed towards his son's fallen tool.

"It's jammed up again, this grass is too tall," Gavin complained, then winced at the knowing look in his father's eyes.

"And whose fault is that?"

"Mine, Sir," he mumbled, his head falling to his bare chest. It practically glistened in this heat, sweat clinging to every part of him whether exposed or not. One of the aides to the abbey took to calling him caramel. The caramel boy out in the fields, hands calloused and raw from the never ending work. She didn't last long here once his father overheard it.

Cullen twisted his larger scythe down, the honed blade digging into dirt. He first tried to sponge off his own overworked brow, then patted Gavin on the back. "Mine too. I kept putting this off, because Maker knows there were a hundred other things to handle in the abbey."

Their home rested in the distance, the field of grass twisting down the road that led to it. If he squinted he could just make out the white stone walls that'd let him out of this heat. Once he finished out here, Gavin was going to strip to his drawers, dump a bucket of well water on his head, then lay on the cool floor for a good hour. Assuming his father didn't have more chores.

Who was he kidding, there was always more.

Cullen jerked his head to his son's scythe, "Did you remember to sharpen the blade before setting out?"

"Um..." his amber eyes darted around, doing his best to not admit that of course he forgot. He'd been in the middle of an adventure novel when his dad all but grabbed onto the back of his collar and hoisted him out into the field.

"Son, how many times do I have to tell you this? Keep your blade sharp and it'll serve you best..."

"Let it grow dull and you only have yourself to blame," Gavin muttered to himself, turning back towards the field. So what if they didn't finish today? There was always tomorrow, or the day after that. Their livestock weren't liable to starve in the interim.

A great cacophony erupted from the grove of trees further down the road. Father and son both spun to look up in time as a giant fireball crested through the sky. Gavin held his breath, but Cullen merely sighed, "I see your mother's hard at work." It was barely a beat before something smothered the fire before it torched the forest, no doubt ice.

Cullen barely blinked at the magics being cast at their doorstep, but Gavin tried to stagger up onto his tiptoes. He wanted to sit and watch, but his dad didn't think it a wise idea. They didn't exactly forbid him from it, but his parents kept finding better things to keep him occupied during the lessons. Gavin heard a soft grumble in his father's throat that was clearly code for 'Get your head out of the clouds and back to work.'

Yanking up the little scythe he'd had since he was ten and first let to roam their slice of countryside, Gavin glanced over at his father. He knew the stories, the heroics people sang of him, but every time they'd bump into a person who fought in the wars in awe of the great Commander, Gavin kept thinking, 'Him?' Surely they must have gotten their famous warrior confused with an old farmer who tended to grumble into his food and always had one eye on the door. If it weren't for his mother...

That was a whole other big problem he could barely understand. Slicing off a few more tufts of grass in the hopes of beating oncoming summer rains, Gavin gave it a few more beats before asking as nonchalantly as possible, "How long do you think the lessons will last?"

"As long as is necessary," his father answered, a familiar grit in his jaw. He didn't pause in his work, but his voice softened, "You know your mother, she gets an idea in her head and..." Cullen twisted his head around to gaze back to where the fireball erupted from, "And we all better keep up or be left in her dust."

That caused Gavin to laugh once, the idea of his mother speeding past either of them ludicrous. He bore a few early memories of her sometimes giving chase to her little boy, but she'd been confined to a chair and cane for most of his life. They would play by her sitting in the meadow while he'd zip back and forth bringing her things she asked for. It wasn't until he was much older that he learned they weren't making some exotic potion to save the fairies or whatever story she concocted. She was giving him busy work, and his father would pick up all the stolen objects to return back for the next day's game.

A new sound, strange to his ears, caused both Cullen and Gavin to look up from the field. Magical explosions, templars on tears, even a stampede of druffalo were commonplace, but this was fresh. Hoofbeats churned up the dirt path, tugging behind them the rattling of wheels and carriages tipping around the bend. Gavin froze, his fingers gripping tighter to the scythe. Visitors? But...they hadn't had anyone stop by the abbey in months. Winter could see an uptick, villagers seeming to be bored or wanting to check in on the grumbling old war hero for stories. Summer, however was a different tale.

He turned to his father for orders and spotted a sneer rising along the man's lip. Whipping back, Gavin noticed a crest stamped to the door of the carriage and a flag bearing a mabari waving upon the back. Cullen sighed, "I should have expected this. Would have been nice to have been told before but..."

"Father?" Gavin turned to him, curious and confused. There were few people who could truly rile him up, the man was practically a kitten with newcomers. But this one seemed to be causing him to spit hot nails.

"How about you go and greet our new visitors?" Cullen stretched his neck, "Give me your scythe, I can clean it up and put it away."

"The field...?" Gavin pointed to it as if he really wanted to continue. Normally, he'd take any excuse to flee from farm work, but if his father was so put off by this visitor how much of a donkey's buttocks were they?

"Can wait until later, but not too much later. Go on, get running. If you see your mother, when you see your mother, tell her I'll be by soon," Cullen said, giving his son leave.

Unable to stop the smile, Gavin turned and gave in to the freedom. Running with the top speed his lanky legs provided, he was halfway to the road that'd take him back into the abbey when his father called out, "Son! Don't forget your shirt!"

Gavin was wiggling an arm into the old, oversized tunic as he stepped through the front gates to find a single carriage waiting in their courtyard. A few eyes peered out of the doors in the abbey, patients and aides alike curious but no one willing to take the first blow. He spotted the driver sitting up on the seat, casually checking her pockets as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Right. Okay. You can do this. Not as if you haven't spoken to strangers before.

Sort of.

Sometimes.

He took a step forward, when a white blur zipped past him. It ran so fast he felt the wind off of it and spotted only a line of colors -- mostly greens but there was a spurt of yellow mixed in. Gavin blinked to focus his eyes and when they did, his jaw locked up. The girl hopped back and forth on her feet, her hands yanking on the door handle to the carriage as if it was second nature to her.

"Dad!" she cried, tugging it open and all but hurling herself in with a great hug. The man was quick to catch her, white hair shining in the summer heat but a bright smile growing stronger from the hug.

"Wheaty! Maker's breath it's good to see you. Here, one more hug," he ordered, tugging her close.

They had the exact same smile, energetic and infectious stretching from the chin to the eyes, the realization of which caused Gavin to blush. He'd often catch the smile out of the corner of his eye while walking the abbey or from across a dining table and wonder things about it. Things that would make his father grumble more.

"What is this?" her father tugged at the blonde braid tossed over her shoulder, "When did you start going all farm girl on me?"

"Da-ad," she groaned, but then giggled like a nightingale. "How's things back home? What about mom?"

He smiled wide, "Why don't you ask her yourself?" Reaching back into the carriage, he drew forth a woman's hand. She was thin, her hair lighter than her daughter's, as she strained to reach around to complete the hug.

"For the love of Andraste, this is foolish. Myra, move out of the way so we can get out," she chastised. The smile didn't dim in Myra's face, but she obeyed, practically skipping backwards so first her father could step down.

Gavin knew that face, it was on more than a few paintings across the parts of Ferelden he was allowed to visit. There were even a handful of collectable coins bearing it that he'd gotten mixed up in his collection. Blinking like mad, his mouth dried out as he realized his father sent him to greet the King with no warning or training. What did one do upon meeting their Sovereign? Bow? That seemed almost too informal. He bowed to the Arl. This was...

King Alistair stopped staring around the courtyard long enough to have his eyes land upon Gavin. Yelping but managing to keep it internal, Gavin tipped his head downward. That caused the King to laugh and wave the boy closer. Was that an order? That was probably an order.

His foot slid once, when the woman's voice ordered, "Would you move your ass already?"

"Sorry, love," Alistair stumbled further away, "old bones ain't what they used to be." Turning back to the carriage, he got a good grip onto her hand and tugged her out.

She was a stunning elven woman, her long, pointed ear prodding through a mass of blonde hair. Hers was the kind of beauty that made young men hold their tongues in fear while also finding themselves unable to stop staring. Gavin felt himself straightening up more when her green eye landed upon him than the threat of a King did.

"Mom! How was the trip? Did you stop at the pancake place? What's Muse been up to? Or my friends?"

Myra launched towards her mother, and the woman turned her head sharply to reveal that her other ear was missing. A knob of scar tissue wrapped around what looked as if someone either hacked away the elven point or it was caught in something and ripped off. Neither mother nor daughter seemed put off by what was perhaps an old wound. "My," she chastised, "speak into my good ear please."

"Right, fine. I asked...!"

"The trip was serviceable if not long. We got the strawberry ones this time. Muse has been sleeping and farting all the time, and your friends sent along a good hundred or so letters for you," she answered quickly before cracking into a grin.

Myra's jaw dropped and she stuck a hand on her hip, "You heard me the whole time!"

"No, but I know my daughter. Come here, one more proper hug already without your father's ass in the way."

He laughed while they embraced again, then whispered near her remaining ear, "I happen to have it on good authority that you enjoy my ass."

"Alistair," she chided, her palm swatting against his shoulders. The woman looked as if she was about to kiss him, Gavin politely turning to stare at the horizon, when he felt her eyes land upon him.

The King turned to see what caught her attention and smiled, "Don't tell me, you're the welcoming squad."

"I..." he dipped his head down, uncertain if it was polite to stare a King in the eye, "I am."

Alistair crossed to him and picked up his hand. Gripping warmly to it he smiled, "Good. Better you than your father, ol' grouchy puss. How is he? Sour as a lemon scowling down bitterdrop lane I bet."

"It, um..." he had no idea how to respond, but the man continued to talk over him.

"Maker's breath, when did you get so tall?" the King gasped. It took everything inside of Gavin to not sneer at the idea. While he was taller than his mother, he didn't reach anywhere close to his father yet and seemed to have stalled out. Unaware of any offense, the King held his hand low to the ground, "I swear, last time I saw you you were this big. And had a metal bucket on your head to go fight off monsters."

A pretty laugh caught Gavin's eye and those vibrant green eyes he'd tried to not stare at for months landed on him for a breath. It was long enough for his cheeks to flare hotter than the fire she'd been launching earlier through the trees. Mumbling incoherently he turned to stare down at the ground, unable to make eye contact with anyone.

"Myra, how are lessons going?" the woman turned to her daughter, pulling the focus off of Gavin who only had the King trying to reminisce about a time he couldn't remember.

"They're fine, Mom," she rolled her verdant eyes wide then shook her head wildly. "I learned a new trick today, wanna see?" Myra lifted up her fingers, but the woman grabbed onto them.

"No, no, that's...as long as you're controlling it. Learning how to temper all the fire stuff. And you better be acting respectful to Lady Rutherford."

Myra snorted, then swooped her hands back over her forehead to try and tuck the free hairs back. The move drew Gavin's eyes to the tiny tips of her ears. It was kinda cute how they ended in this little bump, like a mosquito bite or a tick. Or other things he probably shouldn't say aloud to pretty girls.

"What was that?" Myra's mother wasn't about to give up, "Don't mumble, I hate it when you mumble."

"I! Said! I! Am! Being..." Myra stopped shouting and her eyes wandered past the courtyard, "Hi teach."

The adults both turned to find Gavin's mother hobbling towards them. Her cane glowed bright green, the magic guiding her along and keeping her upright, but she had a bright smile upon her face. "Ali!" his mother cried, and the King actually dashed across the muddied grounds to wrap an arm around her for a great bear hug. She buried her face into his chest, unable to make it for air against his shoulder.

"Lanny, you look resplendent as always."

"'Resplendent?'" his mother's eyebrow shot up as she stared in shock at the King, then her gaze drifted over to the elf.

"Word-a-day courtesy of the princess' new tutor. Believe me, that's one of the better ones he's clung to," she laughed at the man's expense but her face was soft.

"Good to see you, Reiss," Lana tipped her head to her, "You're looking well. Though, we weren't expecting you two at all." Her eyes narrowed and she turned hard to Alistair who lifted up his hands. Only his mother could get away with all but threatening the King of Ferelden.

"Don't blame me, it wasn't exactly my idea," he raced to defend himself, when he turned to shout, "Hear that, old man? It wasn't my fault. Blame the elf you all like so much."

"Thanks for throwing me under the apple cart," Reiss grumbled, and the King reached over to wrap his arm around her and kiss her cheek. At the display Gavin politely turned away and in the process he caught Myra doing the same. She had her tongue stuck out and emphasized a look of disgust. It was so preposterous he laughed at it, which caused her to smile wider.

Maker's grace, that increased his burning blush.

While Gavin made friends with the ground, his father finally joined the party. Cullen nodded his head to them both, "Reiss, a pleasure. You..." he said at the King who shrugged.

"That could have been worse," Alistair began before his face crinkled up and he pinched his nose, "Sweet merciful blood of Andraste, what is that stench? Smells like the inside of a bronto." He risked sniffing the air a bit before honing right on Gavin's father. "It's you! Were you living inside of one?"

Cullen folded his arms tight and put upon the King a glower Gavin thought only he had to suffer. "It's called labor, work, what people do to survive when they don't have a dozen servants to bathe them."

"I happen to think he smells fine," Lana cooed and slipped into his father's radiance. Naturally, Cullen snuggled an arm around her, as if protecting his wife and also supporting her. When she turned to him for a kiss, Myra failed to hide her gagging sound. That caught all the adults attentions but the girl was quick to put on a big smile.

"Wheaty..." the King's voice dipped lower as if in a warning.

Lana was quick to walk over the awkwardness, "After such a long trip, you must want drink and food. We have a few bottles in the cellar we can crack into. I got them from Teagan's stock."

"Now we're talking," Alistair slapped his hands together in excitement. "And it'll give us a chance to hear all about how our baby girl's doing," he reached over to snag Myra by the shoulders and pull her into a headlock. She squirmed as he rubbed his fist into her hair but kept laughing.

"Dad! No," she slid out, her hair a mess courtesy of her father. "I...I have to finish cleaning up the training area. Right, Ma'am?" she turned to Lana who blinked in confusion a moment.

"Well, you best get to it then," Reiss interrupted. "Though I'm almost tempted to follow to see the impossible, my daughter cleaning up after herself."

"She's been a wonderful guest," it was his father who stuck up for the girl he tended to give a wide berth to. Gavin couldn't quite figure out why. It wasn't as if she was contagious with anything, yet every morning Cullen would make certain his work kept him and his son out of Myra's path.

"Hear that Reiss? Our girl's perfect," the King smiled wide and she groaned, "Practically perfect. Go on ahead with your chores, Wheaty. Then skip on back, we really do have a good hundred letters from people back home for you. And they all demanded responses."

"'Kay Dad," she moved to dash away before suddenly turning on a copper and wrapping him up in another quick hug.

"I should assist," Gavin's brain took over his mouth, whatever it was thinking of failing to fill him in on the plan. Sure enough his father's concerned eye landed on him. "It will go faster if I do."

"Son, I don't know..."

"Let him go. It'll be fine," his mother was quick to speak over their father. Most assumed that the ex-Commander commanded the abbey and the family, right up until they came to meet his mother. "Go ahead, Gavin. I'm certain you two will get on well enough by yourselves." It had to be his imagination that she all but winked at the end of that.

A hand grabbed onto his and he turned to find Myra tugging hard on him. "Come on, let's go...before they get all mushy again."

Shuffling to get his dumbstruck feet under him, Gavin followed after the girl leaving their parents to head inside. A bit of their small talk struck him, but Gavin was too focused on following Myra his eyes unable to land anywhere safe but his feet. They'd set up a special magic zone for his mother to do things in. Runes glittered in a circle around it, protecting the area from observation and keeping the magic contained within. It was little more than a section of recently burned grass, even more burned to ash courtesy of Myra, with a few dead stumps in the way.

"What..." Gavin glanced around at the fallow land, "what are we supposed to clean up exactly?"

"I left my stupid stick here," she grumbled, picking up a staff carved out of a dead birch tree.

"That's it?" he patted his hands together, the hairs at the back of his neck rising. He could blame it on the magical shield, but Gavin often had it happen around Myra.

"Well..." she rolled her head around then smiled wickedly at him, "Lady R's wanted me to try and ice the ground, but..."

At her look his entire mouth dried to a husk, it felt as papery as a wasp's nest yanked out of a dead log. She stared at him with a glint in her eyes that both terrified and fascinated him. "But what?"

"Wanna do something fun?" Myra leaned closer to him and Gavin froze, every joint in his body locked tight. All he could do was nod his head up and down, agreeing to something he barely understood.

She smiled again, then nodded in response. "Good. Uh, do you know anything fun to do around here?"

"Um..." No, he spent his entire life walking from one edge of the abbey to the other. Canvassed the woods only to find it full of brambles, tree branches, and insects. Dabbled around the farmland acreage and realized that in general fields of grass contain little more than grasshoppers and giant piles of manure. "I might know of one thing," he said.

The guilt that burrowed at the back of Gavin's head suddenly dug in deeper and he turned towards the abbey. His parents told him to come right back, they'd wonder, his father would certainly worry. He was about to suggest they head back when a soft, pink hand glanced across his tan one. The deepest green eyes stared into his and he was gone. He'd have run away to Redcliffe if she asked it.

"Follow me," Gavin tried to sound imposing, but his voice cracked at the first word. Embarrassment burned hot up his cheeks and he slipped away from Myra, rubbing the back of his neck as if that would assuage the guilt and...other confusing feelings.

Taking an old path, he led her deeper into the woods. Myra walked behind him for a bit, staring around at trees, and squirrels, and squirrels on trees, but that grew dull quickly for her. Laughing, she dashed off deeper into the thicket. Gavin was about to ask her to come back. He could deal with his parents upset at his vanishing for an hour, but losing Myra would be the death of him. Never mind what a king would do. Was drawing and quartering still performed?

"Catch," she tossed her mage staff at him, which he fumbled with in his slippery grip. Her hands freed, she scrambled onto a log and ran up it towards the tree's higher branches.

"What are you...?" Gavin asked even as the girl leapt off the end of the tree, snagged onto a thick branch, and let the momentum swing her in a circle. She managed to pick up speed, twirling through the air as if she weighed nothing. The laugh was infectious, even as he felt terror rising in his legs about what to do if she fell or hurt herself. Myra kept up the spin, when she suddenly let go.

Her arms outstretched, sleeves billowing in the wind, she landed hard into an old pile of leaves. Gavin rushed over, the mage stick clutched tight in his hands, but the girl stood up, laughing as if it was all a big joke. "How did, how can you do that?" he gasped, amazed at how far she managed to fling her body.

"That's nothing," she winked, then placed her palms flat over her head and tipped into a cartwheel. "Back home I'd do this on ledges or roofs. Scares my Mum half to death, cause she'd rather I be chained to some desk sticking papers together or cataloging blood stains."

"Blood stains?" Gavin was confused but also transfixed at her lithe body. She moved as if in control of every muscle at her disposal, the thin arms catching and twisting her limber legs onward. It was...also not something he should be staring at, probably.

"Oh yeah," Myra continued on, not catching on that he'd been staring at her silhouette while she was upside down. "There's a good dozen categories for blood stains, all of which require precise number and lettering, blah blah blah." To finish, she bunched her knees up and then did a straight on backflip. It was impressive, but she wobbled a bit at the landing. Still, nothing seemed to bother her as she smiled, "Andraste's girdle it feels good to stretch."

"Is that why you don't wear any mage robes?" Gavin spoke, then paled at her look. It probably wasn't polite of him to notice her clothing, because then he was looking at her and everyone seemed to be against that idea. Still, it wasn't hard for him to not notice that while the few mages he knew clung to the robes of old, Myra was always running about in tight but not restrictive pants and a tucked in tunic. The shirt bore a lower neckline than most that let him sometimes catch a glimpse of the freckles across her collarbones. That was a long couple of hours of him hiding in the barn lest his father read the guilt on his face for noticing.

Myra shook off her snarl and smiled again, "Nah. Though, that is a good point, don't want to get the droopy sleeves caught, or I'd go, woosh, right off an edge. Splatter on the cobbles, very messy. Seen a few of 'em. Ugh."

"Ah," he had no idea how to respond. They told him little of the girl coming to stay for awhile as his mother taught her how to control magic. She was from Denerim, she was the daughter of friends of her parents, and that Gavin had apparently met her before when he was much younger. Maybe Myra remembered it, but he couldn't. He never seemed to meet much of anyone.

Slowing up, Myra turned closer to him, the smile dripping away, "It's my Mum. She's not wild about my magic. Wild would be an understatement. She all but blew the top of her head clean off the first time I set the room on fire. As if I meant to do it."

Gavin drew his fingers down the staff, the soft birch wood comforting against the skin. Was he the one to harvest it? He was often out with his father, plucking up old wood Cullen could turn into canes for Lana. "Sometimes I think my mother's disappointed I wasn't touched by magic."

"Oh?" her always dancing fingers wrapped around her staff, but she didn't yank it away. He felt Myra's eyes peering up at his, but Gavin screwed his eyes tight to stare at nothing.

"She'd often tell me about it when I was younger. The Fade and the wonders it held. Had me sit in on her potion brewing to get the hang of it just in case. But..." he tried to shrug it off and smiled at Myra. The girl sighed.

"Parents, huh? Bet they're all back there necking and stuff," she snickered then shuddered.

"Come again," Gavin blinked madly, a vision of his parents choking each other flitting through his mind. That couldn't be what she meant.

"You know," Myra pursed her lips tightly together and then smacked them, "My parents are the WORST about it. And they think I don't know. Please. They're as subtle as a cat in heat."

Gavin felt the blush returning and he tried to begin walking to shake it off. "Ah, now I understand."

"No kidding. I thought mine were bad, but yours are...is that what love does? Makes your brains get all gooey and liquified until you act so stupid it makes everyone around you sick?"

"I...I have no idea," Gavin admitted. He was aware his parents were affectionate but never thought it was too outlandish.

"Really?" Myra skipped near him, hopping out front so she could face him while walking backwards. She met him eye for eye, the girl a bit taller than Gavin. "So, you're saying you don't have a girlfriend."

Gavin chuckled, "I have few friends, though some of the aides will sometimes play a game or two with me."

"No, not like a friend who's a girl, but a..." she waved her hand as if that would somehow draw understanding to his brain, "a girl girlfriend. You know?" Myra stopped in her tracks, but Gavin failed to catch on. He made it another step closer to her and found himself a breath from her inquisitive eyes. They were always crinkled at the edges in a smile, but that did nothing to deflate their great size. It was like staring into grassy fields fresh from a summer rain, each gigantic and urging him to run through it. Freckles filled her peachy face from her nose down across her cheeks, the dots reminding him of the ones he spotted on her upper chest.

Gavin felt his breath constrict at the thought and he mentally tried to mumble a prayer. That was supposed to help him focus, or at least keep from making a colossal fool out of himself. "I, no, no, no-no-no," it was all he could say, his eyes finding his shoes fascinating while she stood so close he could see the stain of cherry juice on her lips.

"No girlfriend then?" Myra drug it out before smiling wide and spinning around, "Good. I don't get the fuss of it all. Genie, she's my friend back home. One of my friends, the dark haired one with the funny eyebrow. Long story short, don't try to shave your own down without help or you end up looking confused all the time. She keeps going on and on about this boy who's just perfect. He eats perfect. He breathes perfect. He probably farts perfect. What are perfect farts? Little toots of perfume."

"Or marshmallows," Gavin said, happy to be walking.

She smiled wider at him, "Yes, the perfect boyfriend must fart marshmallows, for all the hot cocoa one drinks. I guess he's only good for winter then. Need a boyfriend that farts ice for summer."

"A mage then," Gavin tried to circle the conversation back around to something he could understand. Perfect boyfriends were beyond his expertise.

"Ha," Myra rolled her fist around and small flames flitted across her fingers like the dancers at the chantry during satinalia. He watched the soft yellow fire when he felt her staring at him. "This doesn't bother you?" she asked, waving her hand back and forth as if the fire might suddenly leap out at him.

"Not particularly."

"Everyone back home practically shat themselves when I'd do this," she chuckled as if it was fun to terrorize her friends and family, but those smiling eyes drooped down, Myra staring at her flame.

"My mother is often casting spells around us, for as long as I can remember. It's hard to be upset when you can have a snowball fight in summer," Gavin said.

Myra closed her fist, smothering the magical flame, and she laughed, "Right, exactly. It's not scary, it's helpful, but..." She paused in her rant and glanced around, "Where are we going? Have we left the grounds yet?"

"Grounds?" he blinked in confusion. "We're deeper into the forest, if that's what you mean."

"No, I got that part just...is this land you know, part of your abbey?" she hopped up and down on her toes, enjoying it while also looking skittish.

Gavin glanced around the quiet forest, only birdsong and soft sway of the wind glancing shadows across them answering. "It belongs to the Arl. Which then I guess means it belongs to your father. I think."

"Yeah, right," she scrunched her nose up as if smelling something awful, then darted back to stare behind where they came. "And your parents, they let you come out this far?"

"Often," he nodded. Gavin caught the mark he put in a tree and bent over to lift up a fallen pine branch. Its soft needles provided cover and a difficult to squeeze under barricade. For a moment Myra eyed it up in caution, but she dipped down to scoot under it. Following behind her, but not too close, he heard the gasp and smiled to himself.

As he staggered up, he spotted the girl rushing towards the giant statue half submerged in the crystal blue pond. "Maker's balls," she gasped, then clasped a hand to her mouth at the swear. Gavin shrugged, having whispered worse under his breath when he'd nick a toe or a pig bit his fingers. She giggled at him not objecting where his parents would, and then spun back to stare wide eyed at the statue.

It was ancient, and huge. Carved from grey stone that felt out of place in this area, it reminded him of a horse, but didn't really look like one. There were no obvious gaps for the body or legs, the entire statue one giant slab, but it felt like a horse. If that made any sense. Only the potential horse head and top half of the body were visible, while a bright crystal blue radiated out from the slab into the pond around it. It practically glowed with blue, brighter than any lake he'd ever seen.

"This place is teeming with power," Myra lifted her hand and the fire rose higher off the fingers. She snapped it away with a giggle and then moved to climb up the statue. One hand gripping onto a front leg handhold, she paused and glanced over at him. "Is it wise for me to touch this?"

"I've been up there numerous times," he admitted, then blushed at her approving look. Gavin was nowhere near as skilled at climbing as she was. The girl made it look easy, her fingers finding grabs that he'd never manage as she moved up the statue like water. Perched upon the head that gazed forever down into the strange pond, she waved for him to follow.

Doing his best to not make a colossal fool out of himself, Gavin took the climb slower. He hooked a foot into the carved spine that was left evident of the hunched over horse, and grabbed onto a section he couldn't explain. It almost looked like a wing that'd long ago fallen off and the weather wore down. But flying horses? That was preposterous.

More sweat dripped down his arms and across his palms. If his father smelled like the inside of a bronto, he probably stank of its colon. Wonderful. That was something that put girls off, right? Smells of bad things. Maybe the shirt would keep it all trapped inside, he prayed while yanking himself the last climb up to perch beside Myra. He hugged tight to the statue on all fours while she pranced around practically on her tiptoes.

"Wow, how in the Maker's name did you find this?" she asked, stepping out towards the nose of the horse.

Gavin plopped down onto his ass, making certain he wouldn't slide off and answered, "I was chasing a rabbit."

"For supper?"

"For fun," he smiled, "we only eat rabbit for special occasions. My father's not much of a hunter. It dashed into the bracken and I all but fell into this pond."

"Wow," she repeated as if that was the most impressive story she'd ever heard. She was the daughter of a king, apparently did things that involved blood stains and dead bodies. His life was nothing but farming and tending to ill people. There was nothing interesting to it. After a time, Myra flopped down and let her legs dangle over the side.

"I like to come here to read, it's quiet and soft," he whispered. Gavin may not have any magic in him but he felt calm here in his private refuge away from his parents and work. Whether it was the statue or knowing no one else could find him, it was hard to say.

Myra snickered, "You've always got your nose in a book every time I see you."

"You see me?" he blinked, shocked that the girl would even notice him. "I..." the blush took over as he raced to apologize for himself, "I don't always, but when there's time to..."

"It's nice," she smiled, "and with your secret library I'm not surprised."

"Ah, that one," he flushed brighter, turning on the stone horse to stare at the abbey. "I don't, that isn't open to me the same as it would be to you."

"What do you read then if not _Ancient Fart Face's Guide to Lighting Or Not Lighting Your Knickers On Fire: Depends On What You Want_?"

Gavin softly chuckled at her summation of the magical literature that littered the abbey. No doubt his mother had her buried in books. She'd do that to people who weren't coming to her for training, Maker turn His gaze on anyone she'd actually plan to teach. "Histories, adventure stories, more or less." He tapped his foot into the horse and glanced over the forest. "The ones with knights rescuing kingdoms and getting into duels or battling monsters."

"Hard in Hightown?"

"No, that one my parents forbid for whatever reason, though they allow anything else."

"Psh, that one's barely got any naughty parts in it. Now his Swords & Shields books are..." Myra paused and, in a shocking twist, the area below her freckles lit bright red. He'd never seen her look unperturbed over anything, not even when the horses were being bred. "The, I mean, um, or the This Shit's Weird: Inquisition book."

"That one I know why they banned," Gavin said. He tipped his hands back behind him and leaned to a comfier position.

"Right, right, your Dad's in that one, ain't he? All those glorious tales of saving the day and chivalry and what not," the girl smiled, waving her hand around as if a sword was in it. "Worried you'll learn the truth of whatever happened during the Inquisition days?"

"No," he knocked his feet together into the stone and sighed, "they both tell me about it. Even my mother will discuss the blight, though not often or easily." Myra grimaced at that one, her eyes darting away.

"Parents, huh? Always prodding into things. Do this, do that. Act like you're still teething or some shit," she snapped her fingers and a poof of fire erupted out of the pond. It couldn't touch anything surrounded by water, but caught Gavin's attention. "Can't trust you to go two steps out the door before it's all 'take the mabari!'"

"'Keep a sharp dagger at your hip,'" he added in.

"'Did you tell Lunet where you're headed?'"

"'Pick any elfroot along the way.'"

Both turned to each other and at the same time said, "'And don't forget to wear a sweater.'" They broke into giggles, Myra brushing her hand against her lips to try and cover a snort while Gavin found himself transfixed by her freckles. There were so many it was like staring up at the night's sky. How long would it take him to count the multitude without her catching him?

The blush took hold harder and Gavin whipped his head away to stare at the treetops and get in a breath of air. It was hot here, the summer heat reflecting off the statue. Normally, the grey stone remained cool even in the height of the season but today it seemed to have broken its power. He felt his hand rummaging through the back of his shirt collar and he froze.

"My Mum, she hated the idea of me going to the college to learn. It's why I'm here instead of up there training with all the other like minded mages," Myra whispered. She cupped her hand as if holding an invisible ball and slowly a sparking sphere of energy rose upon it.

"I doubt there's any mage like you," Gavin whispered. Her bright eyes snapped to him, something unreadable in the depths and he floundered. "I mean, that, uh...you're very, the mages are..." Aware that his tongue flopped like a dying fish in his mouth, he turned away again, his cheeks on fire.

"My Dad would throw a fit if I ever wandered this far away. Home or Palace, that's it. Maybe we'll let Myra go to the corner store, but that's if she takes Muse and Lunet's watching from across the street. Even my friends can visit the Alienage without needing a fancy escort."

"Really? I often travel to the local village by myself and recently took a trip to Redcliffe with a caravan. Perhaps my, my parents are far too busy with other matters to be that concerned."

Her wide eyes shifted up and Myra skirted a bit closer across the stone head. "Lucky. I'd give anything to be able to get out and run free. Best I can manage is skirting around on some rooftops, which of course my Mum yells at me for whenever I do. 'You'll break your neck!' Oh yeah, wait until she learns I can do this!" She tugged a rock out of her pocket and hurled it into the air. On its trajectory down, she blasted it with a spell Gavin rarely saw his mother use. The rock slowed until it gently crested to a gentle plop against the pond's surface. A single ripple followed.

"At least you get to live in a city. All those people to meet, and talk to. I've known everybody here my entire life. You think your parents treat you as an infant, try having a good ten ex-templars call you Gavy the babe to your face." He grumbled at himself, before paling and then staring in shock for saying such a thing to a girl.

If she was planning on razzing him for it later, she didn't let on. Myra stretched out a bit, twisting on her side so she faced him but kept her head tilted down to stare at the rock. "Denerim's not the worst, though don't ask my Mom her opinion on it unless you like hearing about the murder rate, but... You must meet lots of people at Redcliffe. Other boys and girls. Pretty girls with pig tails, and red hair, and big blue eyes."

"None as pretty as you," Gavin's tongue bypassed his brain entirely. By the time the words hit his ears, he panicked so fast for blurting that thought out he began to slide off the statue. Scrabbling quickly with his fingers to keep from falling into the pond, he caught onto the horse's ear and hooked a foot into a nostril. "I mean, um..." he kept staring at his hands as they helped him climb back to safety, though he wasn't free of the burning embarrassment. Against the grey of the rock he looked browner than usual, a shadow from the sun, as his calluses scraped against the hard statue. He was a farmer, sun kissed at birth, with the hands and skinny body to prove his life was devoted to the land, whether he wanted it or not. And she was...

Maker's sake, he barely knew what she was. Fascinating. Confounding. Not Royal but kinda. And pretty. Way too pretty.

Not a single word passed from her at his confession. He may not know Myra well but he knew her silence was rare. She was often speaking over and through awkward situations and this was the mother of them all. How badly had he spooked her?

Swallowing against the tightening of his throat, he risked glancing up at her. She stared at him, her eyes sparkling with the summer sun. Gavin had to grip tighter to the rock to keep from blurting out again how pretty she was. Her thin, strawberry pink lips lifted in a smile. "You're cute," Myra mused before leaning towards him.

He barely caught on to what she was doing before he felt her petal soft lips glance across his. Oh Maker! His first kiss. What was he supposed to do? What was anyone supposed to do? Stop overthinking this and kiss her back! His brain threw those thoughts out lightning fast and Gavin tipped his head to the side, allowing him to press more against her lips.

Goosepimples rose off his arms and legs as the two of them hung suspended in this little kiss for what felt an eternity, but the good kind. Sitting at the Maker's Side kind of eternity where you didn't want it to end. He cinched his eyes up so tight he could see bolts of white lightning circling the sides while...he was kissing a pretty girl. _Sweet Andraste!_

Myra leaned back from him and Gavin finally risked a peek to see those lips he just tasted lifted in a quizzical smile. She didn't say anything to him, only sat waiting. Was he supposed to say something? A compliment or...?

"That, uh," he absently licked his lips with his tongue, then rubbed a hand along the back of his neck, "that was really nice."

She chuckled at his fumbling, "It was." The smile flattened to one of panic and a blush rose on her cheeks, "I've never, um, done that before."

"Me either," Gavin confessed, a full breath filling his lungs. What if he was terrible? What if he was the worst kisser in all of thedas and doomed to never being allowed to kiss anyone again? What if...?

Myra's soft fingers cupped against his arm, rolling towards the knot of muscle below. She lifted a shoulder and whispered, "Wanna do it again?"

"Uh huh," Gavin nodded, unable to hide the cheek bursting grin. Puckering up, he scooted closer towards her. Myra matched, her head tipping to the right this time. They were about to make contact when a noise like a dying goose erupted from below them.

"Oh come on!"

Both kids broke apart quickly and turned to find standing on the ground below the statue, wearing the exact same irate expression, were their fathers.

"Myra, what was the one thing I told you when you came out here?!" the king shouted, waving a hand as his daughter slunk as far away from Gavin as she could without falling off the statue.

"To invert my underwear so I could go longer without having to wash them," she muttered to herself before her eyes darted over to the boy she called cute. The blush rose higher, but it was no match to Gavin's as he caught his father snarling at thin air.

"Gavin, get down from that...whatever that is. It could be cursed. It's probably cursed. Everything is cursed," Cullen glared at Alistair who turned to him in shock.

"Me? You're blaming me for them...? Of course you're blaming me. You always blame me. Stub your toe on something. _It's that awful King of Ferelden's fault!_ Find a dead mouse in your grain. _Curse you evil Alistair! This was all your doing somehow._ "

"As if you could ever admit fault for any of your failures," his father turned on the man, seeming to miss that this was the King of Ferelden he was mouthing off to.

The grown men forgot their kids still sitting on the top of the horse statue, staring agape at the proceedings while their fathers tore into each other. Just when it looked as if it might come to blows, his father slicked back his hair and stared back up. "What did I tell you about getting down?"

"You too, young lady. And don't think your mother won't hear about this. I'm sure she'll come up with a much better punishment than anything I'd dream up."

"For what?" Myra talked back while Gavin silently slid to the edge. He stared at her in awe, never having thought to fight back like that.

"For..." the King waved his hand at her then to Gavin as if to explain. Myra glared at her father, daring him to say it. He sneered and spat out fast, "climbing freaky statues in the middle of woods. Very dangerous."

All Cullen had to do was glare at his son. No threats of getting his mother involved were necessary as he began to scamper down. Myra climbed off the horse's face while Gavin took the back. Just before he was about to vanish, she grabbed onto his hand and smiled, "It was nice."

"The barn," Gavin sputtered out fast in a whisper. Myra's eyebrows met in confusion and his wily brain, given its first taste of rebellion, finished, "No one's ever there after light's out."

Her cute little nose scrunched up with her smile and she nodded, "It's a date."

[ ](http://voidtakeyou.tumblr.com/)

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much everyone for reading and commenting!
> 
> Thanks to Space_aged again for all the kick ass drawings littered throughout the story.
> 
> I have a few more chapters of the kids growing up that's more or less fluff to follow. After that...who knows?


	38. Two Years Old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is the first of a few chapters of the kids growing up that's full of fluff and awes.
> 
> The adorable picture of baby Gavin was done by [Space_aged.](http://voidtakeyou.tumblr.com/) Round of adorable applause for her!

_23 months old..._

 

"Cullen?!" Lana tried to hobble up from a box she found at the back of their closet. Someone went to the trouble of cracking it open and digging out only a few things. No one in the abbey would dare impede upon their bedroom, nor were any likely to guess this was where the once Commander kept his old armor from the Inquisition days. None of the pieces of the set were missing; bracers, chest plate, even the old boots were all in place, but it looked disturbed.

She tried calling for the only possible contender again. "Cullen?"

"What is it?" his voice echoed from somewhere in the abby.

"Have you gotten into your old armor?" Lana shouted back, already getting to her feet. She had to stretch to make it over the desecrated box, trying to leave the evidence undisturbed should there need to be interrogations later. The owners of the abbey appeared rather poor to any who'd stop by, but the old armor of the Inquisitor's Commander had to be an enticing steal.

"What?" Cullen continued, the voice coming from a new direction.

"I said..."

"I know what you said, but...what would I do with it? Why would I get into it?"

Lana pursed her lips. She knew he wouldn't be the one to break into his old clothes, but it was better to prod into the least culpable before breaking out the accusations. "Someone has. Things are moved about."

"Why would anyone care about my old clothes?" Maker's sake he could be dense. She wanted to chalk it up to exhaustion, but from somewhere down the hall she heard an infamous Cullen grumble as he caught on. "How could anyone steal my old clothes?"

"Find box, open it. I don't know what's missing, but you'd best get up here and sort through it," she placed a hand to her mouth to amplify her words and began to walk towards where she thought he was. Thanks to the stones and open cells that created terrible echoes it could take a few rounds of Calen-had to find where they were in this place.

Lana hobbled out of their room and down the hallway. "I'm going to try and..." Her sentence faded as she heard a voice, high pitched and soft but dead certain in the words, echoing from behind an old cell. No one was in residence there, Lana and Cullen often leaving it as a place to store inventory. Pausing, Lana pushed open the wood a sliver and peered in. At that moment, Cullen's hand cupped around the small of her back.

"What's going on? You stopped talking and I feared I wouldn't find you," he spat out, staring at his wife while she gazed inward.

"I found the thief," she chuckled, jerking her chin inside.

Their chubby toddler stood upon a step stool he wasn't supposed to climb with his back to them. Tossed around his tiny neck was the surcoat that Cullen used to wear, the fur part as long as their boy, while the crimson fabric piled upon the floor like a waterfall. Unaware of the audience, Gavin stuck out his tummy and addressed his captive audience.

[ ](http://voidtakeyou.tumblr.com/)

"I need you to. I need you to go to the upstairs." He paused and winnowed his amber glare down at their dog, "No, Honor! You need to shape up." The mabari's eyes opened and she huffed at his saying her name, but she didn't bother to rise off the floor for the toddler's admonishment.

Groaning in a near perfect replica of his father when he was exasperated, Gavin slapped a hand into the other. "You...you're needed to be good. You should all be good. Work good." When that tiny hand reached behind to rub the back of his neck, Lana melted.

"Sweet Maker," she cooed. Realizing he was caught, Gavin spun around to stare at his parents. He was in nothing but his nappy, a sliver of his brown tummy protruding between the dark bear fur while he kept trying to swipe at the back of his neck.

"Son," Cullen eased into the room, his arms crossing, "what are you doing?"

Gavin stared down at his tummy, prodding a finger into it as if it came out of nowhere. Then he snapped up, the biggest, cheesiest smile filling his face. "Morning chores!" His shout rang against the piles of toys he dragged and positioned to sit and listen in a half circle as Gavin doled out orders.

"Oh Andraste," Lana gasped, unable to stifle her grins. She pointed towards the golden bear's head sitting front and center, "He was talking to the helmet as well."

"Lana," Cullen was trying to get her on board with playing the strict and mean parents, but she was too far gone.

"But," she stumbled into the room and scooped down to her baby. Gavin was quick to wrap his arms around her in a hug. "He's playing you."

"What?" Cullen shook his head.

"Morning chores. He's addressing all the workers, giving out orders the way you do."

"I do not..." Slowly, Cullen glanced around at the stuffed animals and the one bored dog. A snort erupted in his nose and his head dropped down. "Okay, I do do that. Sometimes."

Lana turned to mouth silently to her son, "All the time."

"But he shouldn't stand on that, it's dangerous." He was trying to get back a modicum of discipline as both parents succumb to the adorableness.

"He's right, Sweetie," Lana wrapped her hands around Gavin and tugged him off the stool to plop onto the ground. "You can play Daddy on the floor."

"Yes, Mummy," he muttered, his eyes sparkling. Spinning while practically swaddled in his father's old coat, he eyed up Honor. "Sit, doggy!"

Honor glanced up at her true owner and Cullen waved his hand. Sighing, the dog rose up to her weary haunches and sat. Giggling, Gavin rushed forward to hug around Honor's neck. "Good doggy!" he encouraged, before quickly pecking his lips against her head in baby kisses. The mabari's tongue lolled out and took one long lap against their son's face. That was the highlight for him, Gavin breaking into greater giggles and he buried himself tighter into his servant.

Lana eased up to stand by her husband. His arms curled tight around her and she sighed in contentment when his chin landed upon the top of her head. Together they watched their boy patting the gentle mabari. Honor took all of it like a champ, never showing an ounce of getting weary of the child's affections and often trailing Gavin when he went on his adventures. They were inseparable.

"Should we let him play with the coat?" Cullen asked, breaking away from the sweet moment.

Lana nestled deeper into her husband, "Were you planning on wearing it again?"

"No, of course not," he shook his head. Somewhere in the world another fight to save it was raging while they remained safe in their abbey with their little boy and each other. "I was only concerned that he might trip and fall."

Gavin dipped down on his naked legs to tug up the long ends of the crimson wool and began to whip them back and forth. A few smacked into Honor's face, which she only rolled her eyes to Cullen and waited for it to pass. As soon as the assault began it ended. Gavin darted forward and declared, "I love you, Honor."

"Don't worry, Cullen." Lana hugged tighter to her husband's safe arms. "He'll grow into it."


	39. Three Years

_Three Years Old..._

 

Alistair began to categorize the various groupings of nobles he had to suffer over the years. Two Arls plus one Bann equaled a Ribald, because the Arls would talk shit about the Bann while he was left to grit his teeth and smile through it all. Ten or more Banns was a "Curdle" due to the nature of Alistair's entire face curdling in disgust like rotten milk. Currently he was suffering from a Half House. One Arl was in play, but it was a good one, while a handful of Banns and their spouses drifted in and out of the sitting room. This was supposed to be one of those off days, where everyone got together in their nice clothes, ate tiny portions of food, and didn't talk politics.

Which meant everyone was doing their cutthroat best to destroy their nemeses and get the King to wage war on whoever looked at them funny. Why did he agree to this? Not just attending the Pre-Wintersend luncheon but being King at all. To think, instead of being tucked and tied into a scratchy wool doublet while sweat pooled upon his tailbone he could be stuck in a darkspawn dungeon at the bottom of the deep roads. Maker, that sounded so much nicer. Add a few rats chewing on his toes and it'd be like a vacation.

"Sire?" one of the Banns caught on that Alistair was staring out the window paying no attention and tried to drag it back onto him. Not the wisest move, as this man was on the King's 'don't give an inch' list. Not for reasons as interesting as assassins or civil wars, more underhanded seizing of assets to hide tax deferments and other boring bookkeeping things. That's what was really going to be the death of him, some clerk's misplaced one instead of a poisoned assassin's blade in the kidneys.

"Yes, yes, still here. Spring sure is lovely, isn't it?" Alistair turned to yank up a flute of wine drifting around the gathered throngs. "All those birds chirping, and the flowers blooming, and other fertile things happening." He let his tongue run away with him, the Bann's cheeks lighting up, when he heard a very animated voice rising through a throng of the most stuffed shirtiest of them all.

High pitched but not soft, never ever soft, the voice bounced off the indented ceiling with more power than the greatest spokesmen of their generations. It was so strong it drew more people to circle around, blocking Alistair's view but he couldn't mistake the source or the very important words.

"It had two tails and was fuzzy. I wanted to pet it but Mummy said no."

A Bann tried to interrupt, "That's very wise of your..." But the voice's owner couldn't be cowed by such a simple maneuver.

"Mum says no a lot." Alistair scurried up on his tiptoes to find a break between locked in shoulders. Big green eyes rolled up to the man that tried to interrupt her. He had no recourse to come back with the fact that parents often told their children no. The gathered gentry all looked about to break away for freedom, when she began again.

"I like the tower. It's got scary ghosts in it. We chased one of them all over the palace."

"What a delightful fairytale," an older Bann tried to lean down to his daughter, about to pat her on the head and give her a sweet. "How does it end?"

"Wif my Daddy sticking a sword in its guts. It moaned and moaned, before goin' poof!" Myra parted her hands wide and waggled her fingers for the poof part. Then she folded them tight to her lace covered chest and slowly raised an eyebrow as if daring any of them to contradict her.

"That's, uh...a real ghost? In the palace?" the woman stared around at her fellow statesmen who hadn't seen either side of a sword in decades.

"Yup, an' there was a werewolf too, but she was real nice. Mum wouldn't let me pet her neither," Myra smiled wide as if she was describing a summer rain to the gathered individuals. Suddenly, she tugged up the frills upon her chest and asked, "Do you like my dress?"

"It's very..."

"Mummy picked it out special. I like it a lot. See," she spun on her heels to reveal sewn to the back was a small cotton ball done up like a rabbit's tail. Myra twitched her entire body as if trying to get the tail to wag, then broke into giggles.

"Like a little rabbit, how adorable," the older Bann must be a grandmother as she was unfazed by the dramatic change in topic while the others were blinking to catch up.

"I's a ferocious beast, rawr rawr rawr," she swiped at the air with her gloved hands, the claws well contained within silk he was surprised she kept on. The Banns all smiled politely at the mad little girl with long blonde curls who was attacking the air. A few laughed, assuming it was a game, when Myra stopped and in a dead certain voice informed them, "Don't turn your back on bunnies or they'll get you."

"That's so..." the tone struck as the Bann wearing more medals than a tin plate golem paled and he stared down at this little girl.

Myra seemed to transform from a silly child to a hardened warrior in an instant, her green eyes hooded as she stared out the window. "Never turn your back on 'em," she repeated as if she'd seen things in her short life that would turn their hair white.

"How, um, delightful?" the grandmotherly Bann tried instead, no idea where the girl was going with this. They all shuffled uncomfortably away, leaving a gap between the formal shoulders. It was enough for Myra to glance up and spy Alistair.

"Daddy!" she cried, leaping up onto the tiptoes of her pastel pink and yellow shoes. It took them hours for her to finally pick a pair, which her mother kindly pointed out were so small she'd probably outgrow in a month.

The Banns all turned, leaving a wide gap for their King to slide into the circle with a smile. Alistair nodded his head, then bent down to scoop up his leaping daughter. "Wheaters," he smiled at her as she tried to unwrap a small candy that was stuck in a dress pocket. While lace decorated the outside, someone was smart enough to go with thick cotton below, dyed as green as her springtime eyes.

"Your daughter was entertaining us, your Majesty," a Bann said, bowing his head lower.

"Is that true?" Alistair turned to her, "Were you..." With her tiny fingers, she jammed the candy into his mouth fast, Alistair having to roll his tongue in place to keep from choking. He bobbed with his baby girl, the panic of dying from candy fading as it settled safe on the top of his tongue. While sour lemon juice dripped down his throat, Alistair continued, "entertaining?"

Myra glanced around at the people she didn't blink an eye at. All strangers, all taller than her by yards, all in imposing dress and clucking tongues. But his baby girl marched in head held high and proceeded to inform them of her opinions on matters of rabbits and how to kill ghosts without pause. It was a rare person for Myra to shrink away from. Even when at the agency, she'd sometimes strike up conversations with people chained to desks and wanted for crimes. Alistair was worried at first, but Reiss explained that for whatever reason people opened up to the little girl with the blonde hair thick enough to hold a good dozen barrettes.

She smiled, her teeth stained blue from far too many sweets courtesy of the party and a candy maker that spoiled his children rotten. Myra tipped closer to Alistair as if she was going to whisper a secret, before she stopped and yanked up her dress, "Do you like it?"

"I do, it's lovely," he said, answering the same question she put to him a dozen times this morning. "Do you like my shirt?" he asked.

Myra gripped onto his shoulders tight and tried to peer down at the pastel green and yellow doublet hugging a bit too tight to his frame. She twisted her head as if this was a deathly serious question, taking into account all the angles, before glancing up at her father and admitting, "It's okay."

"Maker's breath," he laughed.

"Daddy, daddy," she tugged on his arm, then yanked up the hem of her dress, "I got pants on too!"

"Yes," he tried to smooth down the girl's attempts at flashing everyone. The Bann's horrified rictuses all faded to polite smiles, but they were doing their best to slide away from their King. "I know that. Who helped you put them on?"

Myra blinked a minute, staring up at the ceiling in full contemplation. Even he could see the resemblance to himself in the shape of her face and cheekbones, but when she'd flat out stop whatever she was doing to think she was all her mother. With one quirked up eyebrow, a finger to her chin, Myra suddenly whipped her head down and smiled wide. Hugging tighter to him, she squealed, "You did!"

"Because someone has a habit of rolling ass over end first chance she has," Alistair continued, feeling the need to explain why to his baby girl. The truth did little to sting her, Myra giggling as she nuzzled her mass of dark blonde hair against his cheek.

"Sire," one of Karelle's minions appeared as if from thin air to try and drag Alistair's attention back to matters that didn't involve his entire world.

"What?" he turned, Myra's eyes lighting up at the possibility of a new friend.

"The egg drop, your Majesty. You need to begin it."

"Right," Alistair tipped his head back to the sky. This was normally the better part of his job. Who didn't love hurling the first egg of the season at the grievance board? But what was he going to do with his baby girl.

"Wheaty?" Those massive green eyes stopped focusing on her dress long enough to stare up to his. "Why don't you go find your brother?"

Myra's tongue stuck out far, her entire face crinkled up as if she bit into the lemon peel. "No, he's a poopoo head."

"What'd Cailan do now?" Alistair groaned. For so long the boy'd been pro-baby, then pro-toddler, then suddenly six hit and it was as if a switch went off. Why did his children hate other babies when they became six?

Grabbing onto Alistair's starched collar, Myra tugged herself closer. Her legs dangled against his hips, the special shoes softly knocking into his old bones and she whispered, "He said girls are stupid and gross."

"Did he now? That'll change," Alistair chuckled to himself.

"I'll show him who's gross. I'll, I'll put a toad down his pants!" Myra declared. She moved to wiggle out of her father's arms, no doubt planning on making good on her threat.

"Wheater," Alistair clung tighter to her, "we don't put things down our brother's very expensive and fancy clothes."

"M'kay," she muttered, either trying to trick him into turning his back or not fully committed to her plan.

"We wait until he's in his play clothes, then throw mud," Alistair said as a lark, but he could feel two mothers who just shuddered at his words.

Myra lit up and hugged tighter. "Kay Daddy!" she all but shouted into his ear while tucking her arms tight to her body to turn into a slithering snake. Sliding out of his grip, she hit the ground fast and took off towards the doors.

Alistair watched her a moment before turning to the aide. "Let's go throw an egg. Where's Spud? She's old enough now, it's time for the future queen to get a go I think."

"The Princess is in the solarium with the Queen. I shall fetch her immediately," the minion bowed to him before scuttling off.

Spud was clinging to her lady-like training more and more, enjoying the chance to show off her newly learned skills by correcting her father at every turn. But he knew his eldest, she was going to love hurling eggs at things. The trick would be keeping it to only one, or two. And not at anything but the board.

A few of the Banns lifted their glasses in a seeming toast to their King, which Alistair blanched at. Sure, they were all waiting for the real festivities of Wintersend to kick off, but it was strange at times to have so many people caring about his little family. Cailan had sat in his lap while he carved the traditional ham, trying to sneakily snatch a piece off to feed to that always gawping stomach. Spud was mostly by her mother's side, clinging tight to the skirts when too many eyes landed on her, but she still took time to let her old Dad swing her around in the fresh grass of the meadow. And there was the littlest one.

With no duties to attend to, not even in name, Myra flitted from hand to hand asking questions with a ferocity that could only come from an investigator created toddler. It wouldn't be long before Myra would be writing down all the answers she got in her own little notebook. On occasion Alistair would stop whatever fancy speech he was giving to feel Myra tugging on his hand. Whenever he'd lean down to her, she'd slip a candy in his mouth seeming to be concerned her father needed to keep up his strength. She may not belong to the crown's circle, but she was his daughter.

He caught a blur of blonde hair tumbling in the air as, sure enough, his Wheaty tipped onto her hands and performed half of a cartwheel. When she landed flat on her bottom, she laughed uproariously for Teagan and his wife then turned to find her father.

Her arms flapped like mad as she declared loud enough to drown out the party, "I love you, Daddy!"


	40. Five Years Old

_5 Years Old..._

 

"What happens next?" she asked, trying to sneak a peek over Anders' shoulder. Most wouldn't have been able to make it clear over a kitchen counter but Hawke wasn't like other people.

He huddled around the book, not about to give up on his only usefulness to this...whatever they were doing. Normally he'd be all for breaking into a templar kitchen and throwing things around, but Anders was well aware of the thin line he walked every time they visited. Turning to his love, he asked, "Is this wise?"

"Wha'?" Hawke had on an apron that declared her "Thedas' Best Lover" with rather horrifying doodles across it. He had no idea where she got it from, but he'd put the odds at either Varric, Isabela, or the two in cahoots together. That alone should be enough to concern Anders as he jerked his head to the extra body in the kitchen with them.

The Commander's boy stood upon a stool, his little sweater rolled up to the elbows while he kept patting at a mound of flour Hawke spilled. At first the pokes were exploratory, almost cautious, when the exuberance of childhood took over. Gavin slapped his hand down into it, white powder erupting to coat her kitchen's walls, ceiling, and the two not as brown as they should be Aunt and Nephew. Hawke, being Hawke, broke into peals of laughter while the child smooshed his hands through the remaining flour, leaving furrows in the counter.

"Are we allowed to be...making a mess with their kid?" Anders asked his words pointed at Hawke while he kept an eye on Gavin. He wasn't going to be anyone's go to babysitter, but Anders knew if anything bad happened to the child he'd be the one dangled off a cliff.

After wiping flour dust down the front of her shirt, and leaving great white handprints of evidence upon her breasts, Hawke chuckled, "We're not making a mess, right Gavin?"

"Yes, auntie Haw!" He could probably say Hawke now, but Auntie Haw stuck, the Auntie part of it finding it adorable and doing her best to encourage it even when the Hero tried to correct her son.

"What are we doing?" Hawke scrunched her face up closer to her nephew, the two practically meeting floured nose to floured nose.

"Cake!" the kid cried, "Making a cake."

"Tasty cake," Hawke laughed before patting the boy on the back. "Who can say no to cake? That's...got to be a sign you're a demon. 'No cake, I don't like it.' Evil demon, kill it!"

"Demon, stab stab!" Gavin snatched up the spatula and pretended to jab at the air. "I'm a big demon slayer."

"See, he gets it," Hawke jerked her head at the boy who then proceeded to lick the flour coated spoon. At the taste his face crinkled up and he spat out his tongue.

"Right, cake. We're making a cake. And hoping that the templar doesn't find out and get it in his nobby head to pull out a branding iron," Anders muttered, turning back to the book.

"So, what do we do next?"

"To the flour add baking soda, sugar, and salt," Anders read off the old book covered in crispy blots of ancient dough. That was usually a sign it was a good recipe. Never trust clean cookbooks.

Twisting in the stool, Hawke glanced over at her nephew. "Did you hear that Gavin? Add in baking soda."

The boy's wide eyes honed in on the five bags Anders unearthed from the larder. As much as he loved Hawke she was not the kind of person one wanted to leave in charge of cooking and especially not baking. The time required to keep an eye on say a boiling pot of water, or reach a precise measurement was too much of a tax upon the woman who'd rather be moving at all times. When counting, her mind had a habit of leaping to five before she even reached three.

She once offered to take on Satinalia dinner, only for Anders to wander into the kitchen and find a live duck sitting on the counter while Hawke fed it corn. They wound up eating sausages for that holiday and then adopted the duck for years until it passed away due to old age. Hawke was and would forever be her own woman.

Happily, the boy reached for a bag, then his eyes shot up to his favorite auntie and worry rose in them. The question was obvious, _Was he right?_ Hawke twisted it around to spot the label in the Warden Commander's tight hand. "Yup," she smiled at the boy.

Gavin returned it, his lips stretching to reveal almost all of his bright white teeth. Funny to find such a happy soul created in part from the always sneering templar. Perhaps that was his mother's influence, or the bliss of childhood, though it was hard to imagine the templar ever happy or a child.

Scooting onto the counter, Gavin placed one shoe into the floured mess and then hefted the bag of baking soda up. With a little tongue caught between his teeth, he tipped the bag over and dumped a good cup's worth into the bowl.

Anders moved to try and stop him, but it was too late. Those striking amber eyes darted up to the strange man that was always with his auntie. Sighing, Anders said, "Well, that's gonna be one interesting looking and tasting cake."

"Too much?" Hawke asked, her own mischievous eyes wide in wonder. It was almost impossible to tell who was enjoying making a giant mess of the kitchen more, the six year old or the grown woman. When they first opened the bag of flour, dust shot out which Gavin called snowflakes! This led to the woman attempting to catch some on her tongue. She was both the best and most terrifying babysitter.

Sighing, Anders scooped a cup through the mass of baking soda in an attempt to try and salvage this. After dumping it back into Gavin's bag, the boy watching closely, he gave a little wink. That caused the child to laugh, his fingers reaching for the scoop as he began to try and take more out of the bowl. Anders could fight him on it, but thanks to his childlike dexterity most was falling off back to where it came from. And it was rather adorable to watch.

An arm slid around the back of his waist and Anders turned just in time for Hawke to plant a kiss to his lips. He smiled, surprised that she'd be acting affectionate around her nephew, when he tasted the blasted flour. Trying to spit the mess off his tongue, Hawke cracked up, her white stained cheek straining to full apples from this glee.

Wiping off his tongue with a finger, Anders shook it at her, "I'll get you back for that."

Fingers pinched into his right asscheek, and Hawke murmured, "You damn well better."

"Right!" his voice climbed too high a moment, and he had to shake it back down. "Right, now to the sugar. Think you can do that part Hawke?"

"Aye Aye, Captain!" Hawke saluted, picking up the bag and adding way too much. She slowed up at first, when Gavin began to reach his little fingers towards the cascade of sugar grains. When Hawke tipped the bag down to add even more, he laughed at the sugar pinging against his skin and folding into the creases.

[ ](http://voidtakeyou.tumblr.com/)

Carefully cupping it, he brought his palm to his chin and tried to lick the loose sugar up. A lot of it scattered back to the counter, but he must have gotten some in as he loudly proclaimed, "Yummy! That's a yummy cake."

"It's not a cake yet," Anders interrupted. "Got to bake it first to become a cake."

"I dunno," Hawke smiled at her nephew, then sure enough, scooped a bit of sugar into her mouth, "if it's all the components of a cake, doesn't that make it one? What's a bit of fire going to change?"

"Everything," Anders turned towards her, about to launch into the old alchemical debates about if it were possible to unbake a cake. When he caught the glimmer in her eye, his tongue dried up worse than the flour caused. Maybe she knew, maybe she was playing with him, or Gavin, but mostly it didn't matter.

"What's next?" Hawke gently smoothed down the boy's back, both pairs of Amell eyes burning through the mage put in charge of directions.

Sighing, Anders spun back with a separate bowl of eggs, "The wet part of the equation."

He feared that there'd be a dozen eggs thrown around the room, but Hawke took over the more complicated parts. It was surprising how gentle the giant woman could be when she was of a mind. Anders shifted on his toes, drawn in by the charming picture of the woman he adored softly knocking an eggshell against the side of the bowl. When it cracked open, Gavin clapped as if she performed magic, the golden yolk sliding in to join with the rest. They didn't make their visits often out here, never as often as Hawke liked, but they came at least twice a year. It seemed to be more as Gavin grew. The Champion could finally make good on her word of teaching the boy how to fight, or at least hold a stick and growl menacingly.

"Now we need the butter," Anders announced, shaking himself from the cozy sight.

"Got it," Hawke nodded. With all the ladylike grace he came to expect, she reached down her shirt and yanked the paper wrapped stick out from between her cleavage. "All softened up for you."

"Thanks, love," Anders smiled, well used to her butter softening ways. By the time they got the wet and dry merged together, Hawke stirring through the goop, he began to suspect this might turn out okay after all.

He folded his arms together and leaned back upon the wall to watch Hawke first sneak a little taste of the batter. Smiling, she turned to her nephew. She picked up his tiny hand and then dipped it into the yellow liquid. Eyes wide, Gavin jammed it quick into his mouth. "It's yummy!" he declared his voice striking throughout the entire kitchen.

"Maker's breath, what are you doing in here?"

Anders' head shot up to catch the dark specter of his old Commander hobbling through the doorway. The voice always caught him first; so many nights he lay in Darktown wondering if he'd ever hear it again, if she'd find him. If he'd have to sit and listen to her tell him "I'm so disappointed in you."

But when Lana crossed into view, her hair massive mounds of curls, her clothing simple and held together with patches, and the cane striking the ground instead of a staff, he calmed. At least he would if she wasn't staring dagger eyes at the messy ceiling, then her boy who looked almost as white as his father. After finding the same smeared across her cousin's cheeks, the Lady Amell honed in on Anders who gulped and tried to slink towards the door.

"We're making a cake, mommy!" Gavin declared, his hands spread wide as if it was a big surprise.

"Are you?" she sighed, clucking her tongue at the mess. Lana tugged up an old towel and tried to wipe the flour off of Gavin's face. "You're whiter than a ghost, young man."

"Wooo!" he waved his arms up and down not like a spooky ghost but as if he was trying to dance away from his mother's grooming.

"Gavin," she paused, her eyes darting down to his feet. "Do we stand on stools?"

"No," his bottom lip stuck out far, the head dropping down.

"And what are you doing?" she continued, pointing to the stool.

He blinked and in a soft voice said, "Making a cake."

Lana tipped her head back and sighed, "Blessed Andraste. That's fine, but you need to sit your bottom on the seat. If you cracked your head your father would...let's not find out how worried your father would be. It's a wonder he doesn't already require you to wear a helm around the abbey."

"Yes, mummy," he mumbled, whomping down into the stool until only the top of his head and those amber eyes could be seen over the counter.

"Here, kiddo," Hawke scooted him closer until he was practically flush against it, his hands pawing through the few tufts of flour.

"Anders," the Hero tipped her head to him and he tried to shake off his stand-off stance. The templar was never welcoming, but she tried to be. Lana glanced over at Hawke who was trying to balance a spoon on her nose. "Please tell me you were in charge of this cake creation."

"Ah," he smiled, "more or less."

"More or..." Lana plucked the tip of her little finger into the batter and took a taste. When she puckered up and blinked like mad at no doubt an over sweetness combined with the mouth drying baking soda, Anders braced himself for what was to come.

But the fearsome Warden Commander didn't attack or insist they try again. Scooping her hands around her boy, she pressed a kiss to his knot of curls and then said, "We'll give this cake to Daddy when it's done."

Gavin laughed, either catching on to the prank or just happy to hear that his father existed. The boy was the child of a templar and a mage, and yet...he didn't have to grow up on the run or live in fear. He could sit in a kitchen his parents owned and slap at piles of flour to his heart's content. How many other mage born children out there could do the same thanks to the rebellion? Maybe it didn't go how he hoped, how they both imagined it would when they set the chantry on fire, but the world changed and sometimes it was good. Not for the best, but nothing ever was.

"So," Lana caught that old, obstinate mage she pulled into her warden fold's eye. Tugging the bowl before her, she asked, "What do we do next?"


	41. Seven Years Old

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Myra making Alistair pretty which is super duper adorable was done by [Space_aged.](http://voidtakeyou.tumblr.com/) Oh, and if you head back a chapter, there's another new image by her of Gavin making a cake with Auntie Hawke and Anders.

_7 Years Old..._

 

Reiss whipped her hat off with one hand and tossed it right onto the stand. It rolled in a perfect circle before coming to a stop upon the hook. She shot her eyes up to, of course, find the agency completely dark. The one time she managed it without having the hat miss, fall behind a desk, or boomerang back at her and no one was here to see her triumph.

"Lunet?" she called for her second in command, but save a flicker of firelight dancing from under the door there was no answer. "I got word back from our second office," Reiss continued, easing through the half door and sliding around a separator wall. It gave the illusion that they were more professional than the often half naked dwarf jogging through the front waiting area did.

"Seems that Qimat's gotten some information on..." her words died as a streak of blonde hair dashed through the final backroom door.

It paused long enough to form into the shape of her daughter who was full of smiles. Reiss instinctively braced herself. "Hi Mom," Myra waved her fingers, then suddenly dashed forward to hug her. "How's the case going?"

"Fine," she broke off the hug, eyeing up her daughter. Myra was dressed in the same outfit she left her, so it was unlikely she tried to dye her clothes a new color again when her mother wasn't home. Her hair wasn't whacked off to her ears, so she hadn't let the Princess attempt to style her or talked the girl into it. But there was a chocolate stain on her cheek and her eyes were wild from Maker only knew how much sugar coursing in her veins.

"Good, good," Myra nodded her head, but she kept glancing back towards the room they set up for her. It wasn't surprising that the one room apartment wouldn't last too long for a growing girl. There wasn't really any space to expand upstairs, so Reiss had to reconfigure options down below. All of which Myra was allowed upon proof she could behave herself a full staircase away from her mother. It'd been an entire month since the move and Reiss was on pins and needles for the innocent act to crack off.

"Where's Lunet?" Reiss asked, glancing around the darkened office. They often switched who worked where as much to keep their employees on their toes as to get access to the better chairs. The ones at the second office had fancy backs that could tip.

"Oh, she's back there with all of..." Myra slapped a hand to her mouth and her eyes shot open wide.

"All of who?" Reiss narrowed in on her daughter who was doing her best to try to waft her damning words away with her hands.

"No one, Mom," she chuckled while twirling her blonde hair around her finger. From what was supposed to be her room came a cacophony of girly giggles, sounding way too much like mice racing through the pipes. "Um," Myra gulped at her mother's glare, "Not entirely no one. A few of my friends."

Reiss stomped across the gap towards her daughter's room, Myra frozen in place but no doubt her brain churning for ways to get out of whatever she did. Reiss quickly eyeballed up her office, but it looked mostly in tact. The sword was on the wall, and no one had stolen all the ink bottles. Things were a mess but that could be as much her doing as her daughters. When she grabbed onto the door latch shaped like a wyvern, Reiss paused at the sound of girls trying to shush each other. Counting the number was impossible as the voices covered over each other and hands slapped against mouths.

Hurling her shoulder into the door, she opened to find five girls camped around an office chair in the middle of Myra's room. Three humans, and two elves, all of them had pink and purple streaks in their hair regardless of what the natural color was. When two of the girls looked back at the woman standing in the doorway, Reiss spotted stars made out of glitter stuck to their cheeks.

"Myra," her voice pitched low and she turned to her daughter that went from trying to slink in to standing proud.

Her spine snapped straight and she stuck her chin out. "What?"

"No, what, missy. Are you supposed to...?" Reiss caught sight of Lunet perched upon Myra's tiny desk, the lip of a wine bottle to her mouth. She tugged it away and then raised it as if in a toast to the fuming mother. Why did she think Lunet would be a source of discipline? Myra could run circles around the Grand Cleric in such matters. Twist a finger in her blonde hair, bat her big green eyes, stick out her lip and most people fell over themselves to let her do whatever she wanted.

The only one holding back the potential tyrant was Reiss and... "Where's your father?"

"Er," a voice rose up from in between the mob of girls. Slowly, the chair spun around to reveal Alistair who looked as if he'd head butted a clown and nearly all of the makeup smeared back upon his face. Bright purple lipstick circled around his lips, while a neon pink filled in the thin mouth. He had three stars on his cheek, and the shiniest blue eyeshadow Reiss had ever seen. To finish, the girls tucked a dragon braid into his hair and then dusted it all with more glitter.

"Sweet Maker," Reiss had to turn around to hide the laugh turning her face red as a cherry tomato. Unfortunately, her daughter was standing right behind and a far too familiar snicker rose on her lips. She knew she was safe if her mother found whatever she did hilarious.

"Alistair," Reiss squawked out, trying to shake the laughter out of her voice. Once she felt composed enough to dole out punishment, she turned back to the man who looked like a bard's fever dream crossed with a unicorn. "What's going on?"

"Well, um, we were all sitting around telling stories and then Ellen," he paused in his story to jerk a thumb at the elf that was presumably Ellen, "seems she had a new makeup kit she was itching to try and then..."

"And then you let the girls cover the Ki...you in-- Oh, Maker's breath," she couldn't hide the snort rising in her nose. It burned the thin skin while trapped against the swollen bump from her old break. "And you did nothing to stop this?" Reiss glanced over at her supposed friend and confidant.

Lunet chuckled, "Are you shi...kidding me? You think I'd stop this? Oh, girls, you missed a spot on his forehead. Got to contour that caveman brow down."

Two of the girls grabbed onto a gigantic makeup brush and dabbed it into a pile of pink blush. Chalky powder erupted into the air as they attacked the King's forehead as if it was their duty to the crown. Alistair sat there blinking from the assault until the girls stepped back to reveal what appeared to be a giant welt rising off his forehead. He looked as if he walked smack dab into a low bar.

[ ](http://voidtakeyou.tumblr.com/)

"Good job," Lunet raised up her thumb in praise, earning more of Reiss' scorn.

"Myra," she turned to her daughter, the apple of her eye, and often thorn in her side. Those mischievous green eyes blinked and focused on her. "How many of your friends here know who your father is?"

Her daughter snorted and pointed at the crowd currently trying to place stickers to Alistair's nails, "All of 'em. Duh."

"That isn't what I meant," Reiss narrowed her eyes on her daughter. It was surprising how few people would recognize their King outside of the castle walls and with a half-blood child skipping around him. Many of these children's parents were elven or so poor they had to live in the alienage. If any of them learned that their child covered the King's toes in sparkly purple nail polish and then topped it off with a happy face sticker, they'd probably have a heart attack on the spot. It was a fact Reiss was often trying to drill through her daughter's particularly obstinate skull.

Myra shrugged, "It doesn't matter." Sure, to her it didn't. She knew him as Dad; even when he was sitting on the throne, she was the only one who could run up to the man and cover him in sticky stains. To the rest of Denerim, however...

"Madam Sayer," one of the girls turned to her. Juniper, quiet as a chantry mouse and respectful to the point it unnerved Reiss. "I'm hungry."

"So...?" Reiss turned on a copper and glared at her daughter. It was pitch black out, the sun having left the horizon hours ago. What in the Maker's name were all these kids still doing in the closed down agency? "Myra?" she folded her arms, "Why are your friends here?"

"I told you, we had to make Dad up for the big ball later."

"Big ball?" Reiss spun back to him, momentarily confused. As far as she knew there were no high engagements on his social calendar.

"Nothing so fancy, just a little meet and greet for the new ambassador. But," he waved his hands around at the pre-pubescent girls. Anything that involved the palace or wearing nicer clothes was equivalent to poofy dresses, clocks striking midnight, handsome princes, dancing, and losing your footwear.

Secure in the knowledge she wasn't going to have to dig out her finery or find something for Myra who kept growing like a weed, Reiss turned back to her daughter. "Smart," she had to compliment her even as she swallowed the "ass" while staring at her bright daughter. Too much time surrounded by professional criminals, when it came to answering her mother's questions she always only gave the bare minimum in order to never incriminate herself.

Myra barely smiled at that, used to pulling one over on Reiss every chance she could. Andraste guide her for when the true teenage years hit. "But," Reiss pointed to the girls, "why have your friends not returned home?"

"Because..." Myra danced back and forth on her toes before spitting out fast, "they were going to stay for a slumber party."

"A what?!" Reiss hissed. All the girls cowered, hooded eyes shooting to their ringleader. Even Myra gulped, well aware that she had to run these things by her mother.

"Dad said I could, and Lunet. I asked them and they said it was okay. So you can't go back on it. It's Sayer law."

"It is not bloody Sayer law for you to go through the weak link in the armor in order to get your way," Reiss snarled at her daughter.

Behind her she heard her turncoat husband snort, "Well..." At her glare, he shrugged, "Are you really gonna say that's not your family motto? Because from what I've seen..."

"Alistair, you are not helping. And you, young lady--"

"Mom, it's dark already. Right? And all their parents said it was fine for them to stay."

"Of course they did, they get a free night of babysitting," Reiss growled to herself.

"So, are you saying you want to spend the entire night walking all my friends back home to make sure they're safe? Or are you going to let all of us poor, helpless kids run through the dangerous streets without any supervision and hope they all make it back safe and sound?"

Blighted hell! How was she cursed with such a cunning child? She knew to ask her father, because it was her easy going, doesn't think things through father. She also knew to wait until Reiss wasn't due back until after dark in order to felicitate her plan. Unfolding her arms, Reiss had to admit when she was beat.

"Fine, they can stay." The girls clapped, their enthusiasm snapping back in an instant. Reiss leaned into Myra and hissed, "But if you ever try to go behind my back again, you're grounded for a month."

"Kay Mom," she nodded wildly, the threat of the future punishment nothing compared to the promise of a potential sleepover with all her friends.

Reiss eyed up Lunet still sitting in the corner with a sly turn to her lips. "Since you approved this without me, I see no reason why you can't stay and help."

"Ah, shit," Lunet cursed to herself, before blanching at the ten little ears listening in. But these weren't the cultured ladies of the palace district. Myra's friends at home were all weened on the streets, none of them blinking an eye at an adult's swearing. No doubt they probably knew even better ones by age five.

"My," one of the girls asked, "what do we do next?"

Her daughter put a finger to her chin and she gazed upward. Reiss could feel Alistair's glittery stare at the move. He was always insisting Myra picked it up from her, but she couldn't see it. There was far too much of her father in there for starters. Rolling her eyes, Reiss slotted in beside the man still trapped in a chair thanks to the seven year old kidnappers surrounding him.

"Let's go raid the bakery next door!"

"Myra!" Reiss sniped at her daughter.

"What?" she rolled her eyes, "Old Man Titer's always saying I can stop by whenever for free food. Ooh, I bet he's got bearclaws the size of your heads."

Alistair flinched, "Ugh, I still walk funny after fighting that one bear with paws like this." He held his hands out extended a good foot in width.

His loving, sweet daughter rolled her eyes and sighed, "Whatever, Dad."

Maker, it was going to be a long slog to eighteen. Reiss could already hear a bottle of wine calling her name from the secret stash. After having given her order, Myra turned to the gaggle she ran with. It was hard to say how many were close friends, as the top spot seemed to change with the wind, but the gang was always together. They began as adorable pig-tailed girls skipping stones to play hopscotch in the back alleys and -- with her daughter at the head -- grew into jaded, world-weary individuals. At least until something glittery, pink, fluffy, or a nonthreatening boy crossed their path. Then it was instant squeals and babbling incoherently about something amazing and cute.

The girls scattered to grab up their cloaks, most patched or barely skirting to their knees. Myra smiled as she buttoned her thicker wool one up and then grabbed onto both Ellen and Juniper's hands. One by one the girls all locked up to form their own blockade. They always stood the same, the trend being to wear bracelets made of different colored yarns that matched up with the locked hands to form a rainbow. Some parents feared it was all a secret sex code, but Reiss knew it was a simple matter of an old spinner had excess yarn to get rid of and kids, when bored, will create complicated social rules for fun.

Myra moved to lead the horde towards her friendly neighborhood baker, when Reiss spoke up, "Young lady, do you leave your house in the middle of the night?"

"Uh..." Myra spun back from the darkened agency. Reiss could see the smart ass answer of 'if I can get away with it' bobbing in her green eyes, but the child was wise enough to keep it held back. "No, I guess not."

"Lune," Reiss turned to the least adult grown up left, "go with them."

Her daughter smiled wider, happy to have her sometimes accomplice along. The fun aunt was much better than some stodgy old Mother technically related to her. Lunet placed her bottle down and got to her legs, "Alright, but I get the first bearclaw. Or anything with cherry inside."

As the brood of girls and one adult who should know better slipped into the agency, singing songs at the top of their lungs, Reiss turned to the man painted up like a chantry board. "What did they do to you?" she sighed, trying to wipe the star off. In the process she coated her thumb in gold glitter and smudged a side of the star across his cheek until it turned into a comet.

"I can say no to one kid, two sometimes, but you have ten little hands coming after me armed with brushes and tubes of pigments and I panic!" he flared his hands out, sending a few of the stickers flying.

"Right, I'm to pretend you didn't enjoy any of this," she sighed, sliding in closer to the man she really hoped to sample without having to worry about nearly a dozen little girls overhearing it.

Alistair's hands curled along her waist, that hauntingly pink-purple lipstick rising in a cheeky grin, "Me? Never. Though I think the blush does compliment my cheekbones well."

She tipped closer, aching to kiss him, but paused at the ghastly color. Tugging backwards, Reiss got a good grip on his hands. "Come on," she hauled him up to his grumbling feet and began to drag Alistair towards the stairs.

"Where are we going?" he twisted his head around.

"To the apartment," Reiss explained. "I'm going to clean all that mess off of you."

"Ah," he tipped his blonde head, barrettes raining down from the fine hair that couldn't support the girl's complicated updo.

Reiss spun and flattened the man into the doorway that led up to her room. As her chest knocked into his, she ran her fingers down to his hips and purred, "And then I'm going to clean the rest of you." Tugging down his head, she risked tasting that cheap-ass lipstick in order to kiss the man she loved. It stuck flat to her mouth, drying her lips like a desert wind, but Reiss didn't mind as she stared into the lustful eyes of Alistair.

He managed to knot his hands around her hips and yank her higher, wanting to go back for another kiss, when he paused. "What about the girls?"

"Please," Reiss waved it away. "It'll take them a good hour to decide what they should all get at the bakery and another one to sit and eat it." Alistair laughed at her as she tugged him upwards to her apartment to have a bit of fun before the real work began. Myra was going to be putting in extra time around the office for this round of trickery. But, Reiss' eyes darted over to the father Myra talked down for a visit to hatch her scheme, at least there were some perks for the mother.


	42. Nine Years Old

_9 Years Old..._

 

Maker, take him! Cullen stomped around the still overflowing trash pile his son hadn't scooped one inch free of, as he'd promised to do hours ago. A light misting of spring rain dotted the area, turning the very air itself into a grey fog, but as he held his hand up to his eyes he spotted a small speck of cobalt blue dashing out of the abbey refuge.

"Gavin Gray!" Cullen shouted, hoping to catch the boy before he vanished into the thicket, but either he was too far away or Gavin refused to hear him. Both seemed a growing possibility, chores often left fallow while he was off traipsing through his own fantasies.

Snagging a cloak off the peg, Cullen wrapped it around his freezing cold body and dashed after his impudent son. "It's a phase," he repeated what Lana was always spouting to rush to her boy's defense, "he's young." As if he was too young to master a bit of discipline. Cullen wasn't expecting him to kit up and march into battle, merely clean up around the place when he had time. Yet Lana acted as if he wanted the boy to grow into a full adult overnight. Cullen was in charge of far more as a child, and he had another two elder siblings to help balance the weight. Expecting his son to remove the garbage, look after the chickens, and clean a few of the rooms wasn't exactly 'save the world from the Blight.'

He grunted, a foot sucking deep into the mud that rose up courtesy of the never ending rain-fog. After excavating it, he whipped his head up to spot the same blue cloak drifting deeper into the woodlands. Great. _He must be off on one of his flights of fancy while I'm left to chase after him._ Cullen thought about calling to his wife to either warn her to mind the place or chase after their wayward son instead, but he was losing the kid quickly.

Blessed Andraste, when did Gavin get so fast?

Huffing to catch up, his breath smoked in the humid air, trailing behind Cullen as he went for what felt like his first run in years. Perhaps since the boy was even born. A decade of neglect hadn't been kind to him, Cullen's lungs aching as they struggled for a breath of air through all the hanging water. But he wasn't about to give up on this. For the past three days every time he turned around to find his son he'd discover that Gavin had vanished. Sometimes for hours, and when put to questioning his boy would only say, "I was in the woods."

No explanation no matter how hard Cullen pried, no reasons given or excuses for why he missed lessons or chores. Simply "I was in the woods." Perhaps he should be proud his son was above straight up lying, but he'd prefer the full truth instead of a lie of omission. It would also have kept him from having to hoof it through this dismal weather.

Tugging the cloak tighter to his body, Cullen entered into the edge of the trees no one could tame. Their place butted up near one of the ancient forests across Ferelden that saw so much bloodshed and battle that no one could ever conquer it. Every once in awhile Lana would walk out into it to 'handle things.' She didn't go into details but Cullen knew the scent of demon blood when he smelled it.

Which, of course, was where Gavin seemed to love playing most of all. Maker, was that the mage blood flowing in his veins drawing him to danger? Or... He never outright forbid his son from reading the exciting adventure stories about knights and sometimes even templars facing down demons and dragons, but Cullen bit his lip hard to hold it in. Playing swords was one thing, the two of them standing off with sticks and then wrestling in the grass together until Honor had to butt into the middle.

But he knew that look rising in his son's eye. It was the same that pushed him at all of 13 to badger the templars into letting him join. He was too young and naive to be trusted with such a decision that warped him. And he'd never wish the same upon his son. Surely, he wouldn't embrace that life. Every day he spoke to those who suffered from battle, from the war against magic and demons. Befriended them, helped to medicate and soothe them, sometimes broke down when he learned that they were not long for this world. If anything should turn his boy off of that life, it would be growing up in the abbey.

Wiping the rainwater out of his eyes, Cullen spotted the blue cloak twisting through a few trees. It weaved far easier past the bracken than the wider adult could manage. Sucking in to make the pass, but mostly shattering long fallen twigs and branches, Cullen pursued. He stopped shouting for Gavin, afraid the boy would bolt rather than face up to his punishment.

It should have been easy for his son to stay ahead, perhaps even double back and return to the warmth and dry of the abbey while leaving his father floundering in the woods, but the blue cloak stopped running. Gavin must have dropped to the ground, his little body hiding something as Cullen's only beacon through the fog sat immobile. He was so immersed in it, tugging something from the satchel around his hip, Gavin didn't hear his father approach until he bellowed.

"What do you think you are doing, young man?"

"Father!" Gavin spun around, the wet sheen of rain barely dimming from the amber shock in his eyes. He must not have heard him pursuing.

Cullen stomped closer, "You were assigned the task of..."

His lips hung open a moment before he tipped his head down and groaned, "Cleaning out the garbage pile. I was going to do it--"

"Later," Cullen finished, "as has been your constant excuse for the past week. This is unacceptable. You are required to pull your weight same as anyone else. That means chores, no matter how unfun they are."

"I know, father," he mumbled, not rising off his muddy knees. When his head tipped down, the water beaded against his close cropped curls.

"Running off to your little fantasy games is no excuse for avoiding your duty," Cullen continued, droning on as he often did whenever his son's attentions wandered. Normally he'd get a few 'yes fathers,' and 'I understand' in response, but this time Gavin all but spun in place, a hand smacking into the muddy ground.

"I wasn't running off! I..."

Cullen paused to realize it wasn't rain clinging to his son's cheeks but tears, large ones dripping from his eyes as he stared defiantly up at him. The raw edge in his tone slid off, but Cullen remained curt with the wayward boy. "What are you doing out here?"

Gavin wouldn't answer, only drew the sleeve of his cloak under his nose before glaring at the ground.

"Tell me now, son, or you will not like the consequences."

His lips bunched up as he tried to hold in what looked like either a curse or a sob. Still glaring through nothing, Gavin slipped to the side and he jammed a finger towards the exposed roots of a tree. "This!" he cried, the tears drying to anger.

Cullen bent down closer to find it was a nest of old straw and feathers. Tucked inside of it seeming to be dozing through the rain were two tiny bodies, the fur whiter than snow. "Fennic kits?" he turned in surprise to his son.

"I was trying to feed them, to take care of them, but..." Gavin thudded both fists into the ground and shouted to the rain, "it's not working! They're dying and it's my fault!"

 _Oh Maker!_ Cullen scooped a hand around his son's shoulders and hugged him tight to his chest. "Shh," he tried to soothe the tears renewing in vigor while rocking his boy back and forth, "it's not your fault."

"Yes it is!" Gavin continued, sobs ratcheting through the words. "I...I bring them milk, and they ate it at first, but, but now they don't want it. They just lay there and," he turned, burying his face into Cullen's chest. "Daddy, I don't want them to die." The boy practically bowled him over from the force of the hug.

"Okay," Cullen tugged his son back and expertly dried away the tears with his thumbs. "It'll be okay. Let me have a look." Gently, Cullen reached a hand in towards the nest terrified that the babies would suddenly spring up and attack his thumbs. When no teeth emerged, he skirted his fingers over the fragile bodies. A breath lifted the soft fur, but they felt cool. This rain couldn't be doing them any favors, for certain.

Shifting his knees, Cullen reached in and snatched up the kits, nest and all. With a gentle hand, he tucked the babies under his cloak tight to his chest while his son watched.

"What are you doing?" Gavin mumbled, rising with his father. His amber eyes honed in on the babies he'd been taking care of.

Cullen rose to his feet, staring down at the little white foxes fast asleep. "Taking them to your mother. She'll know how to help heal them."

"Okay," Gavin whispered, trudging after his father. For the first time in years, Gavin clung tight to Cullen's cloak as if he didn't want to let go of his father.

Lana asked few questions about the white foxes clutched in her husband's arms, though her motherly instincts must have picked up on something as she brushed a hand over her dour son's head before plucking up both kits. After laying them out on a counter, she turned to Cullen and said it would probably be best if they waited in the hall just in case she couldn't do anything. He gently patted into Gavin's back, the boy worrying his fingers against his sopping wet cloak as they both stumbled into a pair of chairs left out for their residents to enjoy the summer sunsets.

Fog rain sleeted past them, the air chilly but his son seemed frozen to the chair. Amber eyes stared through the void, his head hung low while he mouthed something. Cullen's heart pinged at how tight Gavin had his hands clasped together as if he could will life back into those tiny bodies by mind and spirit alone.

Running a hand behind him, Cullen sighed, "Is this where you've been going every day? To care for those babies?" His son lifted his head an inch before letting it fall back down. Giving of himself for no reason. "You're so much like your mother," Cullen smiled. He wouldn't call his wife soft, but she could be as gentle as a stream for those in need and Gavin seemed to share that ability.

Gavin sneered, his small fingers wrapping tighter together until his nails dug in. "It's my fault," he spat out, beginning to rock back and forth.

"Sometimes nature can be cruel. It isn't fair, but life rarely is. If it were those kits time then..."

"No!" He spun in his deck chair, eyes narrowed to slits while Gavin's lip curdled, "It's my fault. If it weren't for me they wouldn't...they wouldn't be dying and, and they'd still have their mother." A fresh round of tears rose up in his son's eyes, but he twisted his head away and tried to bury the emotion burning inside of him.

Cullen patted his back, trying to soothe out the explosion building below the surface. In the rain, Gavin sniffled against the tears drenching his cheeks. He jammed his elbows into his thighs, staring hard at his hands as if in shock that they existed.

As if he could see blood on them.

"What happened?" Cullen asked, breaking the ice.

"The chickens," he began, his voice distant. "I'm supposed to watch 'em, feed 'em, protect 'em as you said. And, one day I see there's feathers everywhere. And blood, like a-like a fox got to them."

Oh dear.

Gavin slunk lower in his seat, as if his head grew heavy with the sins weighing upon him. He couldn't look at his father, but Cullen kept trying to rub the pain out through his back. "So I follow it, the feathers and blood, like a hunter into the woods. Like I was taught. I see one of the chickens, Belinda, dead on the ground and the white tuft of the fox dragging her under the tree."

His son told him about the dead chicken days back, but that discovery was rather commonplace. Accidents, disease, creatures, and sometimes the chickens wandering off because they got it in their tiny heads to do it happened. He hadn't thought much of the loss, nor that his son would have tracked down the source.

"I took my bow with me," Gavin continued his tale, his face curdled like sour milk. That would explain why Cullen hadn't seen his son playing with it much lately. "And...and I shot the fox, the fennic. That's what it is, right?"

"Yes, they're fennics."

"Shot her right through the heart, instant kill." It should have been a proud moment. It probably was when he accomplished it. Saved the chickens from further deaths and ended the fox's life quick and clean. "But when I went to gather up the body, I heard...there were these little." Gavin fell quiet a moment, his eyes tearing up again, "I didn't know it was a mum. I didn't, I wouldn't have..." His tale vanished in a wave of crying.

Taking pity, Cullen tugged his son to his chest for a hug.

"I'm sorry," Gavin begged, his hands clutching tighter to his father. "I didn't want to. And the babies, they were all alone without their mum. They cried a lot and were hungry. I wanted to help. I had to help. It was all my fault!"

"Shh..." Cullen wrapped his boy tighter, trying to knock away the blame and pain sitting on his heart. He carried it alone without telling either of them of the guilt nestled like thorns inside of his body. Had to right his mistakes even as the world conspired against him. Maker, how was his son cursed to be so much like him?

Cullen whispered, "It's okay, Gavin." He moved to try and clean off his son's cheeks but found his hands shaking as they hadn't in years. His heart cried out in harmony with the boy's, both carrying the burden of blame for things that were their doing but they couldn't change no matter how hard they prayed. "It's okay."

"No, it's not!" he cursed, a hand swatting at his nose as he continued to beat himself up.

"If you hadn't killed that fennic, how many more chickens would she have gotten?"

His son's eyes glanced over a moment, but his face remained contorted in pain, his body hunched to try and hide away from the good of the world he thought he didn't deserve. "I dunno."

"I know, it's not easy, but...sometimes in life we have to make hard decisions. We have to protect those important to us and that requires extreme measures."

"But killing's wrong!" he cried, a hand swiping through the air as if he held a sword. It was a good thing the boy was all but crumpled into his lap as he missed the look of horror his words dredged on Cullen's face.

How many...?

He thought about it sometimes, in the middle of the night when he'd wake drenched in sweat and sliding out of bed to not wake his wife. How many people, innocent people, had he cut down? Doing it on orders was no excuse. That was what created the red templars, what destroyed the order itself. They followed orders to their doom and the near doom of thedas. How many souls weighed upon the scales of whatever good he could do in the world?

There was nothing in his power to change the past. It took a lot of prayer and reflection to reach that point, to cease holding his hands to the fire in the hopes it would burn away his guilt. All he could do now was try to help. To save the orphaned.

Cullen sifted his fingers through his son's hair, wiping a smudge against the boy's forehead. "Right and wrong are easy when it's the bad guy who's kidnapped a princess or it's a dragon burning down villages. But the stories never mention if the bad guy has children that he dotes upon, or the dragon steals food to feed starving orphans."

"Dad?" Gavin crinkled his brow, confused at the introduction of grey morality into his simple world. It was easy out here in this idyllic farm away from the politics of the world. But even in remaining apart, they made a choice. They left the fighting, the death, the hard decisions to someone else. Washing your hands of something was still a choice that bore consequences.

"All you can do is try to be your very best," Cullen sighed, well aware he wasn't capable of explaining these confounding thoughts to his son.

"But..." Gavin glared at his hands, the same fingers that drew back the bow, notched the arrow, and let it fly into the fennic's chest. "But how do I know? What if it's wrong and I hurt people?"

Cullen swallowed hard. He hid his hands shaking with sin by bundling his son's into his. "Trust in Andraste and the Maker. They gave you your heart; your loving, caring heart. Listen to it, and it will guide you to the right choice. Not the easiest one perhaps, but the right one."

Eyes surveyed his dad's face, no doubt looking for the lie or trick. But this was the openest Cullen had ever been with his son, all but exposing his sins laid out in order for the child that looked up to him since he could walk. He wasn't perfect, his past was littered with pain and deceit, but he had to try.

"Father?" Gavin whispered. "Can I...can we pray for the kits?"

Cullen smiled, "Of course." Folding his hands up, he watched Gavin follow the same, the boy's eyes closed so tight as if his belief would save them. "Blessed Andraste, bride of the Maker, look after the two baby fennics placed into my son's care. Keep them safe, give them a chance at life, heal them with your everlasting love."

"In the name of the Maker, we pray," Gavin recited, gripping tighter with his palms.

Watching his son with head bent, begging for the Maker to shine his light upon him, Cullen was struck by the memory a decade ago. When he too was down on his knees begging Andraste and anyone listening to keep them safe. Even though he felt unworthy of Her assistance, of Her love, he pleaded for it because he couldn't live without his wife, or his boy. Wrapping his arms around Gavin, Cullen pulled the still praying boy tight to his chest. He tipped his head up to the sky, letting the rain wash away the tears stinging in his eyes.

The door opened and Cullen released the tight hug on his son. Slowly, Lana emerged out into the rain, her fingers gripped tight to her cane. Gavin twisted impatiently to his mother, "Well...?" He gulped, afraid to continue, "Are they?"

"They're going to make it," she smiled at them.

Gavin sprung off the seat and dashed into the room so fast he nearly toppled over his mother. Luckily, Cullen was there to catch her, a hand sliding along her back to keep her safe. "What was that all about?"

"I'll explain later," he promised, pressing his lips to her head. Lana must have spotted the tracks of tears as she caught Cullen's cheeks and pressed her thumb against them. The question of his pain hung in the air. Trying to shake it off, Cullen whispered, "Gavin's more like me than I feared."

"Oh," she locked her hands around his shoulders, tucking her cheek to his chest, "honey eyes."

"Mom, mom," Gavin rushed out into the rain, his cheeks stretched into a great grin. Both hands grabbed onto her fingers as he pulled her inside.

"Go careful, Son," Cullen reminded him.

"Yes, Father," his vibrancy subdued a bit, allowing Lana to limp at her speed back inside.

Within an old wooden box two pairs of little black eyes poked up from their nest. Gavin giggled, his fingers reaching over towards the first kit. "Ah..." Lana moved to warn her baby boy away from the wild animal, but the kit rubbed its face against the child that saved it from death. Smiling, he began to scratch both babies at the same time, a happy chittering emerging from the tiny fennics.

"They were a bit malnourished, but nothing terrible. It was mostly the cold, I think," Lana surmised, snuggling tighter to her husband while tears of joy dripped off her son's cheeks.

"Mom, Dad," Gavin plucked the first baby out, the fennic clinging the length of his tiny forearm. "This is Snowy," he said, so proud of the kit he worked hard to save. While Snowy nuzzled against the boy's sleeve, Gavin unearthed the other more quieter of the twin, "And this is Corn Chowder."

"What?" Cullen blinked in confusion, "Snowy I can grasp, but why Corn Chowder?"

"Because I like corn chowder," Gavin explained in the way only children could. It made sense to him and that was all that mattered.

Cullen tentatively reached a finger over and gently brushed back Snowy's huge ears. The fox glanced up, seeming to smile at the attention. "Son," he patted Gavin on the back, "it's going to a big responsibility for you to feed and clean up after these two."

"Does..." he turned, his mouth agape while staring up at his father, "does that mean I can keep 'em?"

"At least until they grow up and are strong enough they can head out into the wild," Cullen said.

"Oh, thank you Daddy! Thank you!" He tried to hug his father while his arms were full of foxes, which only made Cullen chuckle. "Thank you Mummy for saving them," he added, smiling up at his mother.

Cullen slid back to his wife, who watched her boy carefully place both fennics back into the box. But Gavin wasn't finished with them. He gripped onto the table and placed his chin right upon it in order to stare eye to eye with his babies. In a gentle voice, he began to talk to them, telling the fennics about his room and all the luxuries they could enjoy at the abbey under his care. Lana wrapped a hand around Cullen's arm and whispered, "You know they're never going back to the wild, right?"

"I assumed, but...they're his," problem, responsibility, penance. Gavin took them on because he had to, his heart told him it was the right thing to do.

"Cullen?" she turned her head, a hand reaching up to cup his cheek.

He patted her warm fingers that nursed the kits back to health and sighed in contentment. Tipping down to his wife, he whispered in her ear, "Our son's a good young man."

A sweet smile lifted her cheeks as she whispered back, "Just like his father."


	43. Thirteen Years Old

_13 Years Old..._

 

"How many saw?"

Myra clung tight to her shins, chin perched onto her knees as she stared through the night air of Denerim. Her fingers stung as if she'd frozen them in ice, and her hair stank of old ash. She barely noticed the streets traffic trickling to a standstill in the dark because her ears were honed in on the conversation below.

"It wasn't too bad," her dad didn't answer her mom. "We put it out fast, and no one got hurt. That's all that matters."

"For fuck's sake, Alistair, that is not what matters."

Her mother's half smile twisted to rage when Myra returned home with her father clinging to her shoulders saying they had to talk. Whatever mom was going to ask died in her throat as she spotted the burn marks against the hem of Myra's dress. Instead of comforting her daughter, she grabbed Alistair's hand and marched him straight up to their room, telling Myra to get cleaned up. Never one to listen well, Myra snuck out the back window to climb to the roof. If she sat quiet, she could hear her parents, often eavesdropping on them when she was bored or waiting for them to fall asleep before sneaking out.

"Shh," dad whispered, "do you want Myra to hear?"

"Maybe she should hear. For the love of the Maker, I told her to control it. She swore she could, and this. Now. In front of..." Her mom's voice drilled down into dangerous ice territory. The one criminals and the like got just before the sword came out, or Myra heard whenever she left half eaten food in drawers on accident.

"You haven't told me how many people."

A groan echoed from her dad, it sounded as if he was pacing in the apartment below her. Smart as her mom was, she never figured out that the chimney flue could amplify voices giving Myra a perfect was to listen in. "The cousins," he spat out, "and a few Banns, and some other kids of the higher society types."

"Maker damn it!"

"But," Dad raced to protect her, "it's not that bad. Spud was quick to step in, to laugh it off and say it was all a big party trick."

"And you think that worked?"

"You've met the nobility. Call a dragon a puppy, put a collar on it, and they'll all be fricasseed while lined up to pet it."

Her mom sniggered a moment before sighing, "That doesn't make it better. It'll happen again and again unless she learns some Maker damn self control. Why'd it even happen? Do you know?"

"No, I was...I missed that part."

Myra lifted her fingers and flexed them. A puff of smoke erupted from the palm followed by three tiny flames. It was the cousins. Rossie and Cailan's cousins. They weren't any relation to her, as they were always very quick to remind her of. Her siblings...half siblings were fine to visit with, but there was a pack of cousins a little older than Myra that adored sharpening their claws on the bastard half-blood. She was so good at shaking it off, using the techniques Lunet taught her to bite back with her tongue instead of her dagger. Plus Mom wouldn't let her go to a castle party armed, she was pretty strict about that one.

But those, ugh, those _thoses_ kept prodding at her. Maybe it was because Rossie had fancy crown things to do, maybe it was because her dad was busy inside, but they wouldn't stop talking about her mother. Elven concubine when they were trying to be polite, knife-eared whore when Myra's back was turned but they knew she could hear. When that didn't work, they'd turn on her. Half-blood, they'd all but holler it at her from across the garden in their frilly voices and frillier skirts. When one of 'em asked if she didn't have points to her ears cause someone cut them off, Myra lost it.

The fire was an accident, a direct response to her anger. But it was almost worth it to see the look of total fear rise in that shem's eye. She grinned in pride as the girl shrieked back, flames rising up to burn her fancy silks. When the vengeance faded from her blood, panic set in. Myra tried to pat out the flames, kicking dirt at the girl, which sent the entire flock of cousins into a tizzy.

It was all a blur after that. Someone summoned the king, her dad looking frazzled and angry until he heard the full of it. Then that always smiling face shattered into a pity that wrung Myra's veins ice cold. Her dad never looked like that unless something life shattering was about to happen. The last time she saw it her mother nearly...

"I swear to the Maker, that girl is impossible. I told her, warned her if she couldn't keep a lid on this it'd be catastrophic. But does she listen? No, her smart mouth takes over for her ears." Reiss continued on, pacing opposite Alistair. If Myra held her breath she could count the steps in ten seconds and approximate the size of their gait. It was better than sitting there waiting to find out what her punishment would be.

"Reiss," Dad's voice softened and his steps slowed, "it's not..."

"Don't defend her from this. She's thirteen, she knows how this works."

"Yes, fine, she's thirteen, and she's...Reiss, she's a mage."

"I know that. Do you think I don't know that? It's a little hard to miss when she's running around setting girls on fire."

Alistair snickered to himself, "The way Spud tells it, I think they deserved it. A little bit."

"No one," her mother began before backtracking, "Yes, there are plenty of people who deserve to have their shoes set on fire on occasion, but not like that. Not in front of...before so many people that can destroy her life."

Myra curled her evil hands up over her ears, not to shut out the voices, but to feel them. Round, round as a humans, as her dad's. There was a little nub at the top, but nothing like her mom's, or Lunet's, or her other friends. She looked human, as far as anyone cared she was human. But all her mother could see was an elf, an elf that had to be on her best behavior at all times or some shem would come sweeping out of the walls to cut her ears off.

Shit, even her elven friends could miss curfew, or get caught sneaking sweets and worst they had to worry about was a cuffing to the ear. If Myra was ever implicated for doing those things it'd be no leaving the house, no attending to the palace for anything but seeing your father in the dark dungeon, and writing up two hundred pages of notes into files for a week. It wasn't that she didn't do them, she was just very careful to make certain her mother never caught on.

"We can't expect Wheaty to control her powers by wishing really hard," her dad spoke up. "It doesn't work that way."

"Why not?" Mom continued to pace, no doubt Dad trying to get her to stop for two damn seconds. "There are books, she's been reading them."

"Reiss, it's...she needs to be trained. Properly trained," Dad's voice dropped low and sounded as if he was walking over glass barefoot, "And not just because of the occasional fire."

The dreams. When she woke that first night to find her pajama's smoking, her mom insisted it was all an accident. Faulty lamps or some rune Myra forgot in her pocket. Reiss used her force of will to convince herself and her daughter that it couldn't be the most likely cause. But her dad began to pry about her dreams and the whispers. They weren't loud or coherent, it was like trying to hear through custard or see around a hedge. There were snippets of something but it made no sense. Myra told him the truth because she didn't think anything of it, but her dad snapped rigid and they began talking about her being a robe.

"No, no, my daughter, our daughter is stronger than that. She's too smart to be possessed, to give in to demons."

"I've seen some damn strong adults fold when demons crawl into their brains. You expect a teenager to have the same fortitude? She needs someone to teach her how to protect herself. How to navigate the fade safely." A sigh reverberated up the flue before Dad continued, "She needs to go to the college."

"Out of the question," her mom leapt up, her voice screeching for understanding. "Never, I won't allow it."

"Reiss...sweetheart."

"How long do mages remain there? How long are they trapped in those walls, unable to leave to visit their families?"

"It's not a blighted Circle. They're gone." Her dad refused to tell her about the Circles, beyond a few vague descriptions of big towers full of people like her and something called templars that were in charge of watching them. Guarding them. But Myra knew how to find books and read through two on the history of the Circle. The first didn't seem so bad, mages all together learning how to shoot fire and ice and do other neat things. Then she got to the second, a listing of atrocities, of why they fell, of how mages couldn't leave, couldn't have families or even boyfriends. That they belonged to the chantry for their whole lives with no say.

She hid both books under her mattress, terrified of either scenario falling upon her head. That was the day she stopped showing off to her friends. There'd been long accounts from old mages about how their neighbors, friends, coworkers, and even parents all turned them in to the templars. They couldn't trust anyone.

"The College may not be the circle, but it's out of your jurisdiction," Reiss continued. "What if they think keeping the King's daughter for themselves is useful? If they hold her for ransom to try and get more money from the crown? Or...Maker's sake, Alistair, what if the witch finds her there?"

Not this witch again. Myra'd been hearing about some mythical old woman that her parents used as an excuse to keep her from doing anything fun since she was a child. Don't stay out too late or the witch will get you. You can't take that hunting trip with your sister because your Dad won't be there to guard you from the witch. She assumed the witch was a way to scare her into compliance, but at thirteen the ruse was wearing very thin.

"We haven't heard from her in twelve years. Pretty sure she's either dead or making good on her promise."

"I'll believe that a warm day in the void," Reiss mumbled beside the fireplace. "The College is out. I refuse to let them have anything to do with my daughter. Our daughter."

"Well, we have to do something. This is only going to get worse. Someone could get seriously hurt. What if I have the arcane advisor tutor her?"

"For Maker's sake, Alistair. Why not shout through the streets that Myra's a mage? The entire castle, and then the guards, and then every damn person in Denerim will know within the hour."

"Then what do we do? We can't keep hoping that there won't be another outburst."

"Yes we can," her mother was in proper stubborn form, her heels banging against the floor as she dug them in. "I'll get her more books, better books about magic, and...and keep her grounded until she can prove she has some restraint."

Myra snarled, feeling the power building up inside of her again. It wanted to leap free, fire pirouetting across the bricks as she sprayed all the anger and betrayal out of her body. They didn't understand, they didn't want to listen to what she wanted. No, it was all about appearances, about hiding her away and making sure none of the nobs caught on because then something bad might happen.

Alistair tried to reason with Mom, "I don't think that'll..."

"Bullshit," Myra spat out to herself. Tipping her head back she screamed into the night air, "It's all bullshit!"

"Myra?" her dad's voice floated from the chimney.

_Oh crap._

"Are you on the roof again?" Mom thundered. Suddenly her voice echoed up the flue as if she jammed her entire head inside the chimney, "You are on the roof. Which is how you can hear us. Get off of there now!"

Myra shrunk deeper into the shadows, her eyes hunting around the edges. The breath stilled, hoping her parents would forget they heard her and return to their fight. Their fight about her life, her future, which neither could bother to ask her a damn thing about.

"Fine, if you're not coming down, we'll come to you," her mother swore and began to crack open the window.

Rising to her feet, Myra spun in place and ran across their building's roof. It was barely a stretch to leap to the next one, all of Denerim built on top of itself in this district. She could hide, sneak back down while her parents were messing about to find her and slip into bed unnoticed. Only to have her mom chain her to it until she was thirty, or her father send her away to some mage prison. No, no, she'd run away.

Where?

Katelynn's house. Her mom would never find her in the alienage. She could spend her days with her friends, hanging out with the elves that didn't fuss about who set their snotty cousins on fire. And Katelynn's mom was nice, niceish. She came from that smaller alienage up north, and spoke with a Marcher accent. It'd be easy for Myra to blend in no problem.

Reaching the edge of the baker's roof, Myra leaped into the night air, her hands flying out to snag onto a ladder's rung. It probably seemed more impressive than it was; she was often playing up top testing to see the jumps she could manage. The ladder dropped from her weight, loudly clacking and clattering until Myra's boots hit the cobbles. Spinning in a circle, she bunched her burnt party dress up in her hands and began to run for the dirt part of the street that led into the alienage.

What did her parents know? Nothing. This magic wasn't so bad, and those mage wars were a long time ago. No one cared if you could cast spells anymore. There was even a mage who lived down the street from them. He was always making little dancing lights to hop up and down the street at night. Whatever demons there were Myra would just keep far away from them. Not like any would go lurking into the alienage. Demons didn't belong there.

Twisting to the side, Myra leaned into her turn when a hand suddenly lashed out to grab her arm. Instinct took over and she spun, a fist rising up to punch into whatever was holding her. It was about to hit the shadow's jaw, when the second hand caught her fist, pinning it in place. Terror rose up through Myra's gut, the girl pinned by this unknown force. _How was she going to get out?_ She moved to scream, when the man stepped out of the shadows and sighed.

"Wheaty."

Dad dropped his grip on her hands but moved to get between her and the alienage, cutting off her escape. She could backtrack but, sure enough, Myra heard her mother twisting in behind her, going for the kill. Folding her arms tight to her chest she snarled. She should have known they'd find her, catch her; it's what they did.

"What do you think you are doing?" Reiss pounced, jogging up to join the two of them facing off.

"Nothing," Myra mumbled to herself, her foot nudging into a dead rat.

"Do not mutter," her mother sniped.

"I SAID NOTHING!" she screamed, her hands parting as embers of fire erupted off the palms. "Damn it," Myra cursed, struggling to close her hands into tight fists. When the fire doused, smoke trailing off her hands, she turned to face the wall to hide tears in her eyes. Tears of frustration for failing at this.

Her dad's hand landed on her shoulder, trying to soothe away the anger as he always did, "Running away isn't going to fix this, Wheaters."

"Stop calling me that, Dad!" Myra spun back around, honing all her raw rage on her father. He blinked in surprise a moment as she jabbed a finger at him. "I'm not a kid anymore. The nickname is stupid and I hate it. Treat me like an adult."

"Sorry, but you're a kid to me. Always will be. You're my baby, same as Cailan, and Rosamund. If I want to call you Wheaty, or him Radish, or our crowned princess Spud I damn well will. Deal with it."

"Argh!" she stuffed her hands deeper into her armpits wishing the world would swallow her up whole. Where were those supposed sinkholes to the deep roads when you needed one?

Reiss eased closer to her daughter as if afraid she'd bolt. "Myra, we need to talk about..."

"No," Myra whipped at her mother, her voice loud enough neighbors a block over had to hear, "No, all you do is talk. Talk about me, about what to do with me, you never care about me. About what I want. It's _Myra, do this. Myra, go here. Myra, you can't be trusted. Myra, you need to be better._ "

Alistair glanced at Reiss before honing in on her, "This isn't a situation where..."

"I am trying," Myra gasped, the tears coursing from her eyes. "But you don't care," she jabbed a finger at her mother who blanched. "You never care because I'm never good enough."

"Da'saan," her mother breathed the old pet name she rarely used outside the home. Too much elvish on the streets brought attention. "I..." Reiss dropped her head down and sighed, "I understand you're giving your best."

Myra snorted, "Since when?"

"I am trying to protect you," Reiss slid in to her daughter. Only thirteen and Myra could already see eye to eye with her mother. Maker only knew how tall she was going to get.

Myra used the height to her advantage, staring her down. "Protect me from what, mother? From our neighbors? The elves we meet? The gentry?"

"Yes, damn it, all of them. You have no idea, no concept of...you're too young to understand."

"I'm not too young to know why you want to get rid of me."

"Wh...Myra," Dad tried to reach over to calm her, but she shook it off, "we're not trying to get rid of you."

"Yes you are, I heard it. You want to-to send me away or chain me up until I can prove I'm not a mage anymore. Because I get in the way. I mess things up in your perfect life. I bet you wish I'd never been born!" She ended her shout by burying her face into her crossed arms, not willing to look at either of her traitorous parents.

It was her mother who gasped at first, as if she was surprised her daughter caught on. She took a moment to gather her strength but when it came back, it nearly knocked the girl over. "Myra Sayer Theirin, there is not a day that passes where I am not grateful for your existence. Even when you drive me up the blighted wall, I don't wish to lose you. Because..." her mother's words faded into a gravelly snarl as she fought against the need to both smother her daughter in love and a pillow.

"Sweetie," her calmer Dad wrapped a hand around Reiss and sighed, "we both love you. We both want what's best for you. You need someone to teach you to control this or else... Look, I've seen mages fall under the sway of demons. It's not always their fault, demons pry into every crack and you have to be prepared."

Myra dug her nails into her arms, her Dad's soft pleas striking against her wall. She hated him, hated them both because...because, damn it she didn't want to go. Didn't want to face up to whatever this was alone. All her life she'd always had her mother behind her watching, waiting to leap in should something go wrong and now? Her mother didn't understand the fade and would always curse at magic. She waved away Myra's concerns about her dreams as a bad case of indigestion.

"I don't want to go. I don't want to...to leave my friends."

"Okay," Alistair nodded, "what if we--?"

"Don't even think it," Reiss interrupted. "There is nowhere here she can learn, nowhere in Denerim that Myra's magic wouldn't be noticed. Do you have any idea what that attention would call upon us, Alistair?"

Myra risked a peek, expecting her father to go to bat for her, but he impotently tugged his hair up and sighed. _Shit_. "You're right. After the incident it's...I'm sorry, My."

"No you're not," she cursed.

"What if she goes to a mage. Not the college, but..." Dad turned to Reiss and nodded his head, "What about Lanny?" Her mom blinked a moment, her lips curling into her contemplating pose.

It was Myra who needed clarification, "Who?"

"You could be trained by the greatest living mage. The one that stopped a blight. She could teach you things even I can't understand and I've known her for...Maker, it's been too long to count."

"That," Myra was pulled by the idea. The few spells inside books she could get her hands on were piddly things to entertain children. She wanted to learn how to do stuff that could really have an impact. And there were probably magics beyond her imagination locked away in a stuffy college or with this mage tutor. "That might not be too bad."

Alistair smiled wider, a hand curling along her shoulders to try and tug her in for a hug, but Myra was rooted. She was still pissed at the both of them.

Her mother focused hard on Alistair, "You know she'll never come here."

"Yeah," his head dropped down a moment. "Not for more than a week at most. Wheaty...Myra, you'd have to head out to the Hinterlands for awhile."

"Awhile? The Hinterlands? What about my friends? What about my...what about my work here?" She didn't enjoy the cases and hated the school work even more but if it could get her out of this quagmire, she'd study every dialect of ancient Tevene with a smile on her face.

"It can wait," her mother said, slamming her hand over Myra's only chance of escape. "This is more important. You'll travel to the Hinterlands to stay with the Rutherfords for training."

"No," she tried to scoot back from her parents, but the alleyway wall sat in her way.

"Alistair, I assume you can send a letter out to Lana?"

"Yeah, might have to wait a bit for her to get things ready. Seems it's some kind of animal breeding or eating season. Chickens? I can't remember." Her dad nodded along, fully okay with her being banished to this desolate void.

"No, see," Myra tried to get her parents attention but they were too involved with each other. "You don't have to do that. I'm good, I can control it."

Reiss tipped her head, "I'll go with, get her settled in properly. Have to talk to Lunet about taking the time away but I'm certain..."

Both parents folded their heads together, plotting and scheming to destroy Myra's life without turning to glance over at the girl melting into despair. If they had maybe they wouldn't have written her out of their lives so easily.

 

* * *

 

 

_What was she going to do with herself?_

Myra clung to the window frame in the carriage door. To any passerby's it looked as if she was simply enjoying the scenery, but that'd be mad. There was nothing to see out here but dirt, trees, dirty trees, and a vast ocean of sky. She was hanging onto the window in the hopes that the second the carriage stopped she could bolt free from it. But no, her father sent one of his more stricter guards to drive the thing. Even Myra's best offer of all the licorice she could get her hands on couldn't sway the woman.

Groaning, she collapsed back onto the hard bench and tried to not glare at nothing. It took her parents over a month to arrange this, taking so long she began to hope that maybe they forgot. Maybe they really believed her magic would simply go away. But no. When departure day arrived, Myra barely had any time to say goodbye to her friends. They'd all flocked around the carriage, impressed with the gilt and trappings while Myra stared forlornly down at her puny luggage. So many promised to write but would they even care or remember her if she'd been gone for over a year?

She was so mad about it all, Myra refused to let her mother come. At first, Reiss was adamant, but if anyone knew how to push the right buttons to piss her off it was her teenager. Her dad tried to calm her mother down, but there was nothing doing when Myra mocked how she was only going because she couldn't hack the beat. That angered her mom so much she nearly refused to hug her enraging daughter goodbye. In the end, Dad tugged them both together in his greater arms, placing kisses in their hair and swearing she'd best be safe on the trip out.

Her mother only swore she'd better be on her best behavior. Because if she got kicked out of the Rutherford's place it was unlikely anyone else would take her. By the time Myra got into the carriage, she was glad to be leaving them all behind. Maybe there wasn't anyone who cared what she wanted outside the Denerim gates, but there wasn't anyone inside either.

She kept feeling happy to be without her mother for the first few days, but as the carriage wheels rolled onward, it struck Myra that she was being led by a guard with strict orders to never turn back, to leave her with people she didn't know. What if they didn't like her? What if they hated her? What if they made her their life long slave? Mages could do that, she read about it in the second book. Something about the blood. Her dad would try to protect her from such vile and evil things, but her mom. She'd burn the entire place to the ground for anyone that dared to harm a hair on her head.

And you stupidly left her behind.

Because she was pissing me off.

_I want to go home._

The carriage took a sharp turn, the horses whinnying and Myra rolling with the force. "Sorry about that, Miss," the guard called back, "nearly missed that turn."

She should probably be cross, but it was the most excitement she felt on the entire trip. Maybe if they did a few more of those the carriage would tip over and they couldn't continue on. _Then you'd be stuck in someone's back fields with a royal guard. Was that any better?_

The flat farmland gave way to trees, an imposing forest pushing inward towards the road. It hugged so tight, branches snapped off against the roof. Hm, at least that could be interesting. Myra had never really climbed a tree before. Not like these. This place felt ancient, as if...as if she could reach out and hear the trees talk.

Shaking off the silly thought, she peered out the window down the road and spotted a building. White stone, it rose like a bone protruding from broken flesh out of the green forest. A short wall circled it, nothing like the ones back home. Myra could easily scale it with only needing one foothold. That thought calmed her, at least she wouldn't be easy to pen in.

As the carriage rattled its last into the courtyard, Myra nudged her nose against the bottom of the window so only the top of her head was visible. She peered around to find what looked like stables to the right side, a few horses stamping around the bed, and the definite sound of goats or sheep bleating in the air. Myra'd been to a few farms but more as a state visit, never to stay. Would they expect her to milk things? How did that work?

Tiny doors led into the open walkway on the second floor, a few people shuffling between them. She couldn't spot anyone who looked like the supposed Hero of Ferelden, but from her angle all she could make out were their torsos in shadow. Myra was about to risk rising enough to stare at the ground floor, when the door behind her opened.

Spinning in place, she spotted the guard standing patiently, "Ma'am, if you please." The woman waved towards the exit. Myra knew that there was a good chance if she refused she could be dragged kicking and screaming out of the carriage. Her dignity wouldn't allow that and even as her limbs turned to jelly, she eased out of the seat to plop into mud. Red mud. It was so vibrant, Myra tried to vainly search for blood that mixed into it but there didn't seem to be any bodies. Her next thought was to take her shoes off and dig her toes into it.

A bag landed near her feet and Myra practically jumped out of her shoes. Catching her breath, she picked up her only luggage. There wasn't a lot to her name, but her mother let her pack only half of her clothes. Was that a sign she'd be back home soon or...?

"Could you step back, ma'am?" the guard asked and good little girl Myra, her luggage clutched in her fingers, shifted out of the way. Without so much as a bye or leave, the woman swung back up into the driver's seat, turned the carriage around, and drove the damn thing back to the road.

Her jaw dropped, Myra frozen as her only connection back to the real world bounced and jangled its empty way to return to her home without her. "Wait..." she began, but by the time her voice returned it was too late. Even running at her top speed wouldn't help her, the horses having reached a gallop to freedom.

Nervously, she worried her fingers tighter to her luggage's handle, staring around at this strange place. What if it was wrong? What if the owners didn't know who she was? What if they kicked her out and she had to find a way to get back home by herself? She had a bit of coin but how much did it cost to travel cross-country? Could she even find her way back home if...?

"Myra?"

Her head whipped around to find the voice and a small woman stepped out of a room on the second floor. A puff of purple smoke followed, which she quickly shut away behind the door. Gripping tight to a cane, the woman slowly eased herself towards the staircase while Myra remained rooted in the spot. Should she climb the stairs to greet her? Was that the polite thing to do? It didn't matter because her bones were fully boiled to soup by now. Taking a step would end in her face down in the mud.

"Forgive me," the woman continued, "I thought I heard a carriage but I was in the middle of a...it's not important." She smiled wide, her teeth so white against her dark brown skin it reminded Myra of the moon. At first Myra chalked it up to the shadows, but as the woman limped to the ground floor and into the sun, her skin only lightened a shade. "Maker's breath," the woman tipped her head back, unable to reach Myra's eyes, "when did you get so tall? Alistair never mentioned you reaching his height."

"I'm not as tall as..." Myra began before her eyes cinched up and she shook her head, "Excuse me, who are you?"

"Ah, sorry. I'm Lana, Lana Rutherford if you need the whole spiel. Well, that's not quite all of it," she dug her cane in and reached a hand out. It hung a moment until Myra thought to release her tight grip upon the luggage and shake it.

"You're..." Myra blinked, unprepared for this. Sure, she knew what the Hero of Ferelden looked like. She was a seven foot tall statue made out of onyx with a death date that her dad called more of a guideline than a rule. This woman was so tiny Myra feared she might step on her. She was supposed to believe this woman with smiling wrinkles and grey hair who barely skirted to her chest stopped a blight? Was the greatest mage in thedas?

"Let me have a look at you," the woman ordered. Myra expected her to do the usual once over so many of the Queen's sisters and relatives did. Spin around, show your teeth and eyes. They in particular honed in on her ears, but this one didn't seem to care. Instead she drew her fingers together, then yanked them apart, and tiny, blue glowing threads appeared between them. It looked like a ball of yarn that exploded but made out of light.

"Touch this please," she asked. Slowly, Myra's trembling finger slipped into the light strands and, as it glanced upon one, the entire mass lit up bright white and began to hum. Myra yanked her hand back afraid she started an explosion but the woman only smiled.

"Hm, your father doesn't know the half of your power."

"Can...?" Myra's eyes lit up, sad when the mage brought her hands back together to cut off the glow, "can you teach me how to do that?"

"Of course, it's nothing too spectacular. Looks rather impressive I suppose, but it's a simple veil testing spell. Though I do put my own spin on it."

This was her. The great mage, the one everyone else thought was dead. "Lady Rutherford," Myra began, but the woman frowned.

"That's a bit too formal for my tastes, Lana will do."

"Uh..." Myra staggered, her tongue locking in her jaw.

Lady Rutherford's head tilted to the side, confusion increasing when she seemed to suddenly figure it out, "Let me guess, your mother. Or Alistair pulling one of his jokes."

"It's my mom, like you guessed," Myra raced to protect her dad, but she needn't have bothered.

The woman smiled brighter, her face so inviting -- like a pancake breakfast during a snow day when the syrup sat warming on the stove. "It seemed a bit too sophisticated for him. If Lana's out, how about teacher?"

Nodding, Myra smiled, "Okay teach."

"You seem to travel light," she tipped her eyes down at the luggage and Myra shrugged.

"Ma'am, um, teacher, how long do you think this will take?"

"I cannot say for certain, learning spells requires time, study, but I think we can make real progress for the next few summers."

Myra blinked at that, "Summers?"

"Your father didn't tell you? Maker's blighted sake, I told Alistair a dozen times over I..." she waved her hand through the air and Myra was even more bowled over. No one treated her dad like the bumbling fool he could be because they were all worried about the king part. No one except for her mother, anyway. "We can only take time out during the summer for teaching you. Well, I. My husband is around here somewhere, I imagine you got the briefing."

"Don't call him Commander," Myra repeated.

She snorted at that, "More or less. There's a special area set up for you to practice in. Protected from any spray off, and to allow you to fully let loose. I imagine you're itching to see how high that fire of yours goes."

That drew a smile to her face and she tipped her head down. "I am, ma'am. Uh, teach." It was strange to have someone who wanted her to use her magic, to encourage it.

"But," Lana patted her arm, "that can wait until tomorrow. First things first are getting you settled, oh and Maker's sake you must talk to your parents."

"My..." Myra stuttered, glancing around as if she expected to find them hiding behind one of the doors. "My parents?"

"Alistair's been calling through the sending crystal every day. As the week grew on, it became every hour. Your mother too. They're very worried about you. If you..." the woman paused and she folded her hands together. An aloofness wrapped around the inviting mage like she was trying to protect herself from something. Weary eyes, the kind that looked as if they were staring back at themselves in a mirror, turned to Myra, "If you need me to do it because you're not in the mood to speak to them, I can for you."

"Uh," Myra gasped to find a strangely shared sentiment between a woman so much older than her. The woman her father and mother were in cahoots with. "No, that's okay. I can do it."

"Good," she smiled, but the sting didn't vanish. _Was she one of them?_ One of those people the neighbors turned into the templars? Or a kid? Did her parents send her to a circle knowing they'd never see her again? Myra ached to ask her, but it seemed impolite to call out on the first meeting. Maybe later, maybe in a few days time she could bring it up and ask her about the old ways of the mages.

Lady Rutherford glanced up towards a door and groaned, "Ah, blighted void, your room's not quite finished yet. Alice!" She waved to a woman passing in and out of the narrow doors. "Grab some fresh linens and meet me in 5." Turning back to Myra she added, "Give us a few minutes and you can settle in properly."

Unable to offer anything, Myra nodded limply as the woman took the grueling steps up to what would be her room for the summer. Slowly, Myra spun around the courtyard, trying to take in this new home. At least the Hero seemed nice, nice enough. Her tone would probably change after having to deal with Myra for more than a few days. A few younger adults continued to shuffle around, eyes darting towards her, but most too dedicated to whatever they were doing behind the doors. Something told Myra it wasn't anything interesting. What could be out here?

Aside from learning magic and having to fill out her studies for back home when she had free time, the abbey stank of boredom. People were quiet, holding their breath and softening their words while they passed in and out of passageways. Even the doors barely squeaked. Back home she'd have already heard a good five curse words through the walls before getting out of the door. Her ears itched from the silence. What was she going to do here all summer?

The pervading silence was broken out of nowhere by the sound of someone smashing into a low bar and then cursing. When Myra turned around, she spotted a boy rubbing his curly head. A book lay open in his hands; no doubt he was so engrossed with it he wasn't paying attention to where he was going. After checking himself for any serious damage, he glanced around to see who spotted him. Over the left shoulder was safe, but when he turned to the right, breathtaking amber eyes landed right upon Myra.

A blush rampaged up his brown skin a shade or two lighter than the Hero. Who, she just realized, was probably his mother. He awkwardly glanced down at the book, stuffing the pages higher to try and hide his defined chin and thick lips struggling through a horrified smile. Still, those amber eyes remained focused on Myra, peering over the top of the book as he attempted to slide backwards to get away from his humiliation.

"Gavin!" a man's voice echoed from a lean-to set up on the side. The boy whipped his head over to the taller man in the shadows and he gulped.

"Yes father," Gavin called, racing to vanish inside with whatever work he was needed for.

Myra smiled to herself, the amber eyes clinging to the back of her eyes like a vision. Maybe there were a few things interesting here after all.

 

THE END

 

Thanks everyone, this is really the end end END! of Miracle.

To finish, here are a few pictures of baby Myra and Gavin all grown up.

 

Why? Oh... no reason. Wink wink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sharing this late because I just found out that the story I wrote for the Handmaids Tale made it into the Top Ten! Woo! Mine's The Flood, you can read all the rest [here.](https://www.wattpad.com/list/512724389-myhandmaidstale-contest-winners)
> 
> There was a whole thing about Atwood selecting them herself. It took weeks after they said they'd announce the winner, assumed I was out. 
> 
> So yay!


	44. A New Hero

Here it is, the story no one was asking for!

Wait, that's all my stories.

The kids are all grown up and struggling to find their place in the world in the next tale _**[A New Hero](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11867928/chapters/26798133).**_

> _Who thought being the son of two great war generals, the bastard daughter of a King, or the future Queen would be easy? Action, humor, romance, and a wily assassin all await inside of this new story._
> 
> _Gavin Rutherford dreamed of one thing — becoming a Knight. His and his parents plans are thrown into chaos when he’s sent to Denerim. He finds himself embroiled once again with Myra Sayer Theirin who’s struggling to figure out her magics and place in the world. In the middle of it all is Princess Rosamund neé Spud who’s doing all she can to prepare for the hurdle of leading a nation._

> _No one expected so much trouble to befall them, but that’s what happens when you’re the children of King Alistair and Commander Cullen. Trouble has a way of finding you._

Come on over to watch Gavin, Myra, Rosie, and a sneaky assassin grow up.


	45. Birthday Present!

It's my birthday and Space_aged surprised me with a [comic version ](http://voidtakeyou.tumblr.com/post/175881344647/i-threw-this-together-at-the-last-minute-for)of a scene from [Miracle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10783770/chapters/24883725) with Alistair, Reiss, and baby Myra.


End file.
